Work and Play
by AsianScaper
Summary: LaurenSydney COMPLETE! The last chapter is up. Sorry to keep people waiting. SUMMARY: Sometimes, dying just isn't enough.
1. A Day in the Office

**Title:** _Work and Play_  
**Author:** AsianScaper   
**Fandom:** Alias  
**Characters/Pairings:** Lauren/Syd, Vaughn  
**Summary:** A day in the office.  
**Spoilers:** Season 3  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG - for mature themes  
**Genre:** General  
**Dedication:** To slash writers everywhere.   
**Feedback/Archiving:** Feel free to send me an email to   
**Disclaimer:** Characters aren't mine, except for the Reaper and the IT guy Raimes; I don't own the show because if I did, a lot of naughtiness would ensue.

!-!-!-!-!-!

Hers was a rather tensely modified office at this point, most everyone had shifted to neither talking nor interacting with her. This was the mood after every mission she concluded. Needless to say, there had been two since Sunday. It was Friday.

To Lauren, the office was on perpetual delay. Twenty hours after the ordeal, she was neither triumphant nor preening through her latest cavalcade, having gone through those motions in the comfort (and privacy) of her home. She spent last night watching an uncomplicated B movie and counting (offhand) the calories of buttered popcorn she was consuming.

Her particular space here, with her desk and computer and somewhat uncomfortable chair, possessed the dullness of routine; a harrowing succession that had gone uninterrupted for the past few days. The only real excitement to be had was the plethora of precarious missions she had succeeded in, almost brusquely, with unparalleled finesse. All in secret of course, but celebrated by parties far removed from the CIA.

She had garnered one very ugly gash on her palm from the last foray, burnt through by heated handle-bars while she'd hurried out of an escape hatch. Wrapped in bandages and the tell-tale sign of blood appearing ever so slightly at the area of her thumb, her hand made a move for her coffee mug.

_Ouch._ She shifted her mug to her better hand.

Sip.

"Ahhh," she sighed, puckering her lips as she flipped through another page of building schematics. Another sigh and she was tapping her foot to an imaginary beat.

Oh no, it couldn't be mistaken for simple boredom, these acts. Sitting at an office and reviewing all and possible scenarios in one sweeping, brown-envelope-report held a thrill in itself, no matter how technical it got and challenging to the imagination.

In a few minutes, however, Lauren Reed leaned back into her chair, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples, slapping the envelope onto her desk. She allowed her mug some breeze-laden minutes to render it more palatable.

"Ms. Reed, good morning," someone said, her voice dutifully neutral. The intruder gracefully (if not irritatingly) strode towards her in long, powerful legs, sporting a lacerating smile that neither brightened nor improved Lauren's day.

Lauren could see their mutual hearth of dislike lighting itself, boiling a verbal brew.

"Good morning, Sydney," Lauren returned, Bristow's first name slipping coolly and easily through the smiling arch of her lips.

"Good, is it? Glad to hear that," Sydney echoed, stopping right by Lauren's desk to examine the contents of her workplace. Sydney didn't seem too interested in anything except on (perhaps) erring against Lauren herself and (God forbid) cracking Lauren's façade to discover some form of treachery hiding beneath. Lauren, being as good as she was, didn't entertain the latter thought and didn't worry. She was supremely confident in her abilities to be covert.

"You seem to be working on something new," Sydney added, peering over to Lauren's brown envelope and then glancing at her injured hand.

Lauren, in the event of controlling her temper (and not at all soothed by that single sip of caffeine), held her own by calmly glaring at Sydney's coolly complacent eyes. They were chillingly dark and convinced her that this conversation was a low attempt at controversy.

"I hope you don't injure yourself cooking for Vaughn again." She indicated Lauren's blistered hand, her eyes laughing.

"Or not because I could've used this hand to wreak damage on more _friendly_," she bit the word and continued, "fronts." The truth of her words reeked but she made no indication of the fact.

"Oh?" Sydney chuckled, more amused than threatened. She stepped back nonetheless, making a show of checking her timepiece. "Half past ten. Better get going." She retreated in the flurry of a nicely tailored pant-suit and her brunette-embedded splendor.

Lauren couldn't help but mutter her aversion.

!-!-!-!-!-!

Lauren Reed, well into the confines of the small passageway which led to the comfort rooms, stole a minute glance at the brunette and frowned. There were certain things about her ethic that required her to hate Sydney Bristow; one, she was a hindrance to her plans, owning an intelligence that Lauren couldn't help but admire and two, Sydney had single-handedly driven a rather colossal stake between Vaughn and herself. That was certainly far from healthy.

Lauren's agenda included a whole lot more allure, at the thought of throwing a secret top agent off her pedestal and off balance. Though, she was careful to note that such daring underestimations would be paid for in blood.

"Ms. Reed, good morning," a colleague said.

"Hello, Raimes."

"You look rather apprehensive, Ms. Reed." Raimes raised a brow, his cheeks clinching in a half-smile. He left a pile of papers on her desk, and told her, "Does your computer need a bit of tweaking? I've heard some complaints over at division E."

"No, no. Everything's working fine." It was one thing to share an accent with Raimes, and quite another to impart details of her life. The IT shrugged and hurried off to his respective errand, aware that the blonde, femme fatale had nothing more to say.

Her cellular beeped. A call. From the Red Reaper.

Her hand began to throb.

"Hello, Reed here," she answered genially.

_The Beer Hold Parking Lot, twenty two hundred hours. Tonight._

"Of course," she said, smiling widely, pretending that the person she was talking to at the other line was an old friend. "A drink couldn't hurt."

!-!-!-!-!-!

**Author's Notes:** I haven't seen a single episode of "Alias" but I've always been very intriged by the idea of Lauren and Sydney. Adding to the pool of Lauren/Syd slash is a world of fun so I hope you enjoy this story as much as I love writing it. Be sure to give me your views! I love hearing from readers and writers alike.


	2. Meeting the Reaper

**Title:** _Work and Play: Part II_  
**Author:** AsianScaper  
**Fandom:** Alias  
**Characters/Pairings:** Lauren/Syd, Vaughn  
**Summary:** Lauren meets her contact.   
**Spoilers:** Season 3  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG - for mature themes  
**Genre:** General  
**Dedication** To slash writers everywhere.  
**Feedback/Archiving:** Feel free to send me an email to   
**Disclaimer:** Characters aren't mine, except for the Reaper and the IT guy Raimes; I don't own the show because if I did, a lot of naughtiness would ensue.

!-!-!-!-!-!

She stepped unto the dark concrete with the cool, unmitigated steps of a dancer; at once deadly in her grace and beautiful, her hair reaching spiritedly for her shoulders in curling strands of blonde. In a black suit, and in killer heels, she felt ready to tackle any board room, with or without the oak tables, the power point presentation and cozy, executive seats.

Stretching, dark alleys and wet, wounded chars of dangerous neighborhood cradled this particular meeting, where everyone stood to be heard and none offered a smile.

Carrying with her a small pistol, tucked away under her skirt, and a knife hidden deftly in her sleeves, while at her un-burned hand, a bag of paraphernalia hung vapidly –she felt confident that all would go well.

At the end of the alley, where it opened to a parking lot long abandoned by the owners of the diner beside it, stood a man in a trench-coat, with a black umbrella held fastidiously above him to protect him from the dew. She walked towards him with renewed purpose, smirking ever so slightly her slow seduction of the space between them.

"Greetings, Ms. Reed," he said, in a hoarse voice that prowled the darkness and disclosed an affinity to all things sinister.

A bit frostily, as was her wont, she said in turn, "Good evening, sir."

"I have a mission for you," the Reaper continued, his gloved hand reaching into the nearest, biggest pocket. "This," he continued, handing the enveloped to her.

It was sealed in what looked like black leather, without an obvious opening; except she knew that the material itself was unbreakable and only those who knew its secrets could open to the contents inside.

She did, and with a manicured finger, opened the seals with ease. The material made a shearing sound as she pulled the papers from the file and studied them under what little light there was under a full, calm moon.

It was her eyes that gave her away, widened and glowing in an ominous shade of shock.

"You have a week, Ms. Reed. All will be arranged."

She did not bother to ask any questions or redeem her perpetual cool. She watched the man blankly, as he turned his back to her and disappeared into the wide, wily shadows of the night.

!-!-!-!-!-!

That night, she cooked for her husband, tucked him into bed, kissed him good night, and blessed all those acts with loathing. A loathing that discovered her with a charming smile, sweet words, and sugared touches that more often than not, led to the bedroom. But tonight, she was in no mood to run through that particular chapter of the stage play; she was in no mood to entertain Vaughn, her captured audience. Instead, by the backdrop of him snoring and herself, wide awake in distress, she retrieved the documents from her safe box and clenched her fists over them.

The case was such that she would rather have poured libations of blood, honey, milk, and wine to the Reaper himself; it put her in a precarious, untenable position. For all the success she had met on the field, this was one thing that she knew would cut Samson's hair and leave her prisoner on a deserted mountain somewhere, in the middle of North Korea.

!-!-!-!-!-!

**Author's Notes:** Special thanks to the LJ girslash community for the merry feedback. And of course, I'm welcome to suggestions and to speculative "what if's". Support the craft with a review! Points at the bottom left corner


	3. Surprises

**Title:** _Work and Play: Part III_  
**Author:** AsianScaper  
**Fandom:** Alias  
**Characters/Pairings:** Lauren/Syd  
**Summary:** Lauren and Sydney on a mission to North Korea, secrets, and a plot to capture agents.  
**Spoilers:** Season 3  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG - for mature themes and language.  
**Genre:** General/Adventure  
**Dedication** To slash writers everywhere.  
**Feedback/Archiving:** Feel free to send me an email to   
**Disclaimer:** Characters aren't mine, except for the Reaper and the IT guy Raimes; I don't own the show because if I did, a lot of naughtiness would ensue.

!-!-!-!-!-!

Vaughn was distressed, Sydney could tell; whether for her or for Lauren Reed, she didn't know. She had no right to know, she berated herself, as they were lowered at the border.

The Chinese would have a hissy fit if they knew the internationals were mindlessly infesting this part of the world; but the Koreans would grill them over hot coal if they so much as saw Lauren's blonde hair and Sydney's impeccable white skin.

Vaughn was veritably in emotional pain as they parted, ready to choke but nonetheless keeping his bravery in check by giving them both a thumbs' up as the helicopter soared from view and into international waters.

Lauren dutifully had the navigational material out, going so far as to hand Sydney the map and a compass while she manipulated the GPRS with cool precision. It piqued Sydney's interested that the other woman seemed intent on finishing this mission as quickly and as neatly as possible. And as glibly with regards to technical, Sydney noted, as Lauren fished out the radios, a laptop and configured them effortlessly.

To Sydney's knowledge, the British national knew as much about spy work as that which could get her manhandled and killed. That the big bosses should deem her necessary to this smelled a little too fishy for her taste.

The woman had apparently been reading her theory and putting them to practice, asking perceptible questions to all the right departments and idling about important designations in the building to learn with enough finesse the things she was doing so very effortlessly now. Sydney almost admired her effort, and the nippy learning arc.

But her mission was to keep Ms. Reed safe; to get her in and out of North Korea without so much as a hitch and that was probably the easiest thing she had done in the past month.

"Have you done this before?" Lauren asked her, with enough nervousness (in direct contrast to the way she was deftly loading a rifle with bullets) to credit her Sydney's smile, lacking in warmth as it was.

"Yes, more times than I could remember," Sydney answered reassuringly.

Lauren shrugged, slipping a bit at the out cropping of rock. She peered into the mountains.

"It looks awfully lonely up there," she said. "And an awfully long trek."

"A day or two and we'll reach the camp."

Sydney paused a moment, staring at the other woman's back and at the repercussions of spending the better part of a week with the wife of her erstwhile lover. It was one thing they shared. Vaughn, that is, and it was enough for her to talk candidly to Lauren, with enough severity for stealing what could have been hers.

In complete disregard for procedure, she asked, "Lauren, I need to know if you're carrying anything important."

"I should have known you could smell those things," Lauren said, without turning. "Yes, I'm carrying something very important. It also happens that between the two of us, only I know how to decode it. I am therefore indispensable." The arrogant sod now turned to her with a smile that was not as friendly as it looked. "And so are you, it seems, if anything's to be done about this."

"Well, it's a team effort. I hope we get that straight from this time onward."

Lauren frowned, thoughts slipping past the blue of her eyes and picking one for its prudence. "A team we are, then." She handed her a radio, avoiding Sydney's gaze as they stepped off the rocky ridge and into the tree line.

!-!-!-!-!-!

Amongst the uncertainty of the weather, dark and dank and the clouds simmering in a brew that spoke of nights in cold and wet ahead, Lauren Reed found herself questioning the very motives that pulled her steps ever closer to fate.

It was only six hours since their drop-off. Sydney Bristow, in true top-of-the-class fashion, kept the rear guard and went through the motions of keeping their tracks hidden. For Lauren, being inevitably caught was the least of her problems.

Everyone, as the plan had been from the beginning, underestimated her, with the exception of the Reaper.

Floundering about was her hobby; it was staying at the top of her game, dealing treachery and expertly determining the lives around her –that was her true athleticism. That, and making sure that everybody noticed her incompetence.

But not today. Not today.

She hefted the rifle. More than once in the past six hours, she had looked behind her to see if Sydney was still following. Lauren had adopted a pace that most women would probably never muster in their lifetime. It was a half run over rocky, unforgivable terrain, requiring balance stamped solidly on well-toned muscles and an efficiency for oxygen known only to high altitude climbers.

Sydney, for her part, noticed that Lauren was not playing and kept her frightening revelations to herself. Because she began to sweat, to breathe coherently, to frown as lactic acid built in her legs and caused her to slowly –ever so slowly, lag behind inches at a time.

While Lauren did not bother to rest as they topped a ridge, sliding down on her backside in a controlled fall by its face, balancing with her arms and hands with incredible skill and cutting her speed with her legs. Amidst it all, Lauren also noticed the smallest details.

Sydney's hair slick with fatigue, her lips open in bouts of oxygen starvation, her rare faltering on an obstacle overlooked. This was no laughing manner, even if Lauren found herself at a complete advantage; Lauren was thinking ten, twenty steps ahead, ignoring Sydney's scowl of intense concentration; ignoring even, the weariness which had steadily chipped away at Sydney's focus.

In truth, there was nothing to prove; she respected Sydney Bristow, in her own way, because she respected herself all the more for her own prowess.

As they jogged into a congregation of copses, Lauren mercifully stopped and furtively brought a finger to her lips. Sydney, in similar fashion, brought her pistol up and looked warily about.

She was breathing relatively hard, trying to gather as such oxygen before the other woman decided to keep going. Pushed against Lauren, Sydney could feel that Lauren Reed was as fresh as though she had just walked through a park; her chest was moving slowly, relaxed, and though her eyes seethed tension, Lauren's body language oozed the opposite.

Sydney's senses spiked then, aware that something here was not quite right.

"We stop here," Lauren said, lowering her rifle and looking to the heavens, as though asking for reprieve.

"Care to tell me what's going on?" Sydney breathed out, pointing the pistol slowly at the other woman and stepping warily away.

Leaning from the tree they had used for cover, Lauren raised an open palm towards her, her face momentarily shocked as Sydney gestured with the side arm.

Sydney barked, "No tricky moves. On your knees, Reed!"

Gritting her teeth, Lauren –with her rifle hanging over her shoulder –slowly put both her hands behind her head and knelt. Lauren's blonde hair, which fell from her face in a soft, supple spread, hid a curious expression of apology, regret of some sort, and untenable determination.

"Trust me, will you?" Lauren asked quietly, her boots scrunching as she completed the form of submission.

"What?" Sydney laughed sarcastically. "Not after you sabotaged the communication equipment." She raised her radio and turned it on, letting the static cackle about the clearing. "And certainly not after exposing your back to me for the past seven hours or so. Either that, or you're incredibly stupid."

"You're the rear guard."

"Bullshit," Sydney spat. "What are you thinking of? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right here and now."

Lauren raised her head and blue eyes pierced through the cloud of Sydney's distrust. "Because you won't get out of her alive without me."

As if on queue, the bushes to her left and right moved. Through them rose a company of twenty men, armed with semi-automatics and sporting canine smiles –triumphant expressions of dominance that stood contrary to Lauren's blank stare.

Sydney felt a bucket of ice glide down the length of her spine.

"Surprise," Lauren said impassively, standing up as her lips curled in a mysterious smile.

!-!-!-!-!-!

**Author's Notes:** Everything hasn't been fleshed out yet but due to a heart-felt request, a most predictable thing happened: capture. Care to give suggestions? Reviews are always welcome! And I'm clueless about Alias, really. So please tell me if things are a bit shot.


	4. The Futility of Escape

**Title:** _Work and Play: Part IV_  
**Author:** AsianScaper  
**Fandom:** Alias  
**Characters/Pairings:** Lauren/Syd  
**Summary:** With Sydney slowly losing her strength, escape becomes a dim possibility.  
**Spoilers:** Season 3  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG - for mature themes and language  
**Genre:** General  
**Dedication:** To slash writers everywhere.  
**Feedback/Archiving:** Feel free to send me an email to   
**Disclaimer:** Characters aren't mine; I don't own the show because if I did, a lot of naughtiness would ensue.

!-!-!-!-!-!

Water seeped through Sydney's clothing and upset her thermal wear; thirty minutes later, she began to feel her body lose its stored heat in a steady, alarming manner.

Crossing the river with her hands tied behind her was a struggle; she slipped involuntarily over the riverbed rocks and occasionally went under, gasping for air. It was also without fail that a steady arm wrenched her effortlessly to the surface. Every time, she was surprised to see that it was Lauren who did her the favor; and every time, she shoved herself angrily from her arms.

Lauren's marathon through the tundra, her complacent betrayal, and now, her silent assistance depleted Sydney's tired muscles of energy, of warmth, and filled her mind with unholy visions of hands, strangulation, and choking –all directed at Lauren Reed.

Careful to keep her emotions in check, Sydney took note of the men. They were bulky in their parkas, stretching their legs in motions that belied their familiarity with the ground.

There was no sun, no deliberate sign of fiery heat; there had been none for the past eight hours. Light seemingly came from all directions, beyond the soulless clouds, shaming everything to a steady, muted silence, cut through by the sound of fauna and the occasional trace of mountain wind.

She was wedged firmly in the middle of the trekking column, watched judiciously by Lauren while the others kept their attentions to the environment and to their eventual destination. The group was a motley crew of Korean nationals; Lauren and herself bobbed above them except Sydney started to stumble more often.

Nobody talked and Sydney's labored breathing, along with their grinding boots, was a distracting noise.

"Say something," Sydney gritted, allowing her anger access to the floodgates of adrenaline. At this point, it was the only thing that kept her conscious. Treason tasted the most bitter in her mouth.

Lauren rolled her eyeballs and dragging her by her arm, said, "I think you ought to conserve your energy."

"I haven't any left."

"Don't make me…"

"Make you what?" Sydney scoffed.

Lauren Reed raised an eyebrow, looking at her as though for the first time. Taking Sydney's cheek as she glared at Lauren with annoyance, Lauren examined the other's face, looked her over once and raised a hand.

"Halt!" she said in fluent, non-halting Korean. "One hour. Get the men settled," she addressed a young Korean with silent, uncompromising eyes. "Get some water over a fire and get everyone warm. We're not going to reach camp 'til nightfall."

Sydney's eyes widened. No accent. No hint of Lauren's field-less agent experience. Lauren Reed spoke Korean confidently, innately understanding syntax and concepts with the rigor of immersion. Sydney began to realize just how big a scheme this was. Nobody, not even herself, could do so well in undercover work for over three years. This was not the Lauren Reed she knew.

As Lauren helped her to a rock and ordered her with her eyes to just sit down, Sydney felt her legs give and for the first time, she bowed her head in exhaustion and felt an initial, eager thirst nip at her throat.

Lauren's hand came into view, holding a cup of steaming water.

"There's coffee," she said, reverting to her lilting English. "But I doubt it'd do to saturate you with caffeine, seeing as you probably need your rest. Drink it in sips; you'll scald your throat."

Sydney did not have the strength to argue and leaned into the cup as Lauren tipped the container with care.

After the first cup, Lauren ordered another and another until Sydney shook her head at the fifth. That Lauren would be so considerate escaped her; perhaps it was Sydney's impending demise. No need to be mean if you were going to die, after all.

"Some thanks are in order," Lauren said jokingly, handing the empty cup to one of the men and then taking a sip of her own.

"I don't think so," Sydney replied. The other woman brushed off her sarcasm.

Sydney continued, "Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

Sydney felt her throat run dry.

_Do what? _

She realized that the question was empty. That perhaps the whole of Lauren's stay had been a farce and that this mission inevitably put Sydney at the mercy of whoever Lauren was working for –no, _had been_ working for the past few years.

She should have known that her initial dislike for the blonde had a primal reason and not the obvious lover-stealing one; this imminent betrayal was certainly picked up by her gut. Seeing none of it, driven helpless by trusting somebody she barely knew…

Sydney chuckled a bit; in anger or in comprehension, she did not know. "You're good," she admitted, throwing the words at Lauren bitterly as tears of frustration teemed at the edge of her cheeks. "You're very good."

"I know," Lauren whispered in flawless English, her accent unbearable. She put a hand on Sydney's knees. "I should be sorry. But I'm not. At least not yet."

Silence. Revelations.

"So you never loved him?" Sydney asked, unable to stop herself.

The blue of Lauren's eyes narrowed, drinking the sight of her with deliberation, predatory affection, dim-lit pity.

The silence lengthened before Lauren said, "No. Never."

!-!-!-!-!-!

Syndey was tired.

For all the limitless expectation Syndey had of her body, for all the training she had undergone, Lauren (that conniving...!) had pushed her far beyond that place where she could tolerate thoughts of sprinting and hiding to freedom. She examined the narrow pathway ahead, at the trees to her right, climbing up a hill-face. Too steep. Then her eyes darted to the river to her left, flowing downstream with little more vigor than she did as she walked.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She would die of something other than bullet wounds if she jumped into that. Lauren had already left her to dry by that feeble fire her men had made.

"You're not going to get away with this," Sydney said between clenched teeth, trying to prevent them from chattering in the cold.

"No," Lauren said, hoisting her up a ledge. "But by the time they do find us," regret crossed her eyes at her last word, her correction, "Me. Before they find me, many things would already have happened."

"Well, they're going to find you dead."

"I'm sure they will."

Sydney's frustration went up a level. There was no provoking Lauren Reed. She seemed completely resigned to whatever fate handed her –first, for abducting an agent, and second, for betrayal of the most wayward sort. .

"Lauren," Sydney began, berating herself inwardly but nonetheless knowing what was best for her at the moment. If anything, she should keep herself alive for the moment when Lauren Reed would be kneeling in front of her, begging for her life.

"I told you, you should conserve your energy."

Sydney could not resist. "I'm really, really…" She lurched forward and Lauren made a move to catch her, only to find Sydney's knee looking to connect with her abdomen in a Muay Thai shove.

But Lauren had grabbed her neck, locking foreheads with her as she raised her own shin for protection. Lauren grunted as the blow coupled with her legs but halted her own offensive when Sydney slackened in her embrace. Their cheeks were touching and Lauren could feel not just the deathly cold of Bristow's skin, but the fatigue that leapt from every fiber of her.

The men had gathered about, their weapons targeted and ready to fire.

Lauren breathed out, "Wait, don't shoot!"

"I don't know why I didn't do that sooner," Sydney snarked, smiling drunkenly. "But I'm really, really…cold." Lauren supported her as Sydney's head settled on her shoulder, hugging her torso on impulse. Sydney's legs gave way from under her and her breath, bursting out in short intervals, heaved against Lauren's ears in torrential weariness.

Sydney, in a state of half-shock, reveled at Lauren's warmth and leaned in almost instinctively, burying her face again her parka.

It was a primal impulse for warmth but Sydney's brain was still functioning: "I'm beginning to dislike you very much," she growled as her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she collapsed, sagging like a sack of potatoes.

!-!-!-!-!-!

**Author's Notes:** The story's an exercise on character development, really and I'm crediting _rieh_ with Sydney's less scathing (and thus less bitter) vocabulary. She wasn't very likeable before this story was updated. I'm playing with them, eh heh. Suggestions are most welcome! I've got big plans for Lauren and the Reaper so I hope you've enjoyed what you've read so far! Oh, and don't forget that writers love feedback (points at the blue/purple button at the bottom left corner). :)


	5. Depositing the Package

**Title:** _Work and Play: Part V_  
**Author:** AsianScaper  
**Fandom:** Alias  
**Characters/Pairings:** Lauren/Syd  
**Summary:** Lauren leaves Sydney with some very questionable company.  
**Spoilers:** Season 3  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG - for mature themes and language.  
**Genre:** General/Adventure  
**Dedication** To slash writers everywhere.   
**Feedback/Archiving:** To ask would be very lovely.   
**Disclaimer:** No offense is intended towards the North Korean government or the scientific community in general. This is in all things, a work of fiction. Characters aren't mine, except for the Reaper, the IT guy Raimes, Lauren's "men" and the evil doctors of the underground facility; I don't own the show because if I did, a lot of naughtiness would ensue.

!-!-!-!-!-!

She had reserved all touches to shoves, heaves, pulls and pushes. Up until Sydney Bristow collapsed against her. Trying to support her weight as best she could, Lauren had taken a hand up from behind her, supporting the back of her head as though Sydney was a six month old baby. She stood like that for the better half of five minutes, breathing in Sydney's exhaustion like a pipe, feeling the other woman's hair against her cheeks with a blossoming awareness. Feeling, also, how cold she was; and her embrace tightened instinctively at the thought.

In part because her insides felt like ice. Here and now, holding an unconscious Bristow who was quite literally at her mercy, she warmed to the idea that all her actions were not, in fact, cold-blooded. That she had restrained herself from beating the woman to a pulp, from throwing her into the river.

That this Bristow possessed warmth: a furious passion that just earlier had been unleashed on her –that did not merely contain itself on her skin, allowed Lauren to wonder if such was the same for herself.

She decided to burn those thoughts and lay the embers at her feet.

Her men seemed rooted to their places, a bit shaken by Sydney's half-hearted attack. Lauren's foreman, after several seconds of delay, finally had the good sense to take Sydney from her arms.

"Have Bae carry her for the rest of the way," she said numbly. Her number one, a fellow named Jin Dae Min, checked her for injury and lingered a moment. Bae, the burliest of the group, took Sydney and began to strategically place her on his shoulders.

She caught her foreman's look. "I'm all right," she reassured him.

"She could have killed you."

"She didn't have the strength for that." _I made sure of it._

"You're losing your edge," Jin said, matter-of-factly.

Lauren's fists tightened. "Bae," she called. "Give her to him. He'll carry her for the rest of the way; we're a good five miles out anyway."

Jin frowned, before realizing that complaining would probably add to the insult.

The sun dropped, sneaking behind a mountain before it fled and left its orange wake in dark, adamant blue. It was a good two hours later, with Jin breathing most noisily through his mouth that they arrived at the facility. They had neared the mountains and at the foot yawned a mountain cave.

Barbed wire over twelve-foot high walls, guard towers with mounted searchlights every few hundred meters, and armaments that were not readily visible to the eye. Behind it all were camouflaged facilities, some smoke seething, and the general sounds of a well-maintained base.

Seeing them approach, men and women at the gate began to run, scurrying to open the entrance while some spoke into radios, heralding their arrival. A jeep arrived just as Lauren made her appearance at the gate, personnel nodding in her direction with respect lingering in their eyes. Lauren hopped into the vehicle, gesturing for Jin to follow as he put the unconscious agent down at the back.

"Have them put her in clean clothes. We need her alive and able to talk. She'll have a fever for the better part of three days if we aren't careful." Jin laughed, cruel gold teeth glinting. "She won't talk."

"Oh she will. I'll make her. Or they will, whichever comes first."

The other man kept his silence, having learned his lesson on the way home quickly enough.

!-!-!-!-!-!

"This, Madame, is research facility. If anything else," the young doctor explained, pulling a stinking cigarette from his mouth and blowing out in the other direction. "See that red line? You cannot go beyond that without being shot." He indicated grim-faced soldiers on either side of the doors. "Though of course, I doubt very much they'd be able to kill you that easily."

He held the fag between his index and pointing fingers, the other hand tucked under him. Wiping his mouth as he threw the cigarette and stomped on it, he leaned against the wall with a careless possession of the space. Lauren peered past him into the clinic.

"She'll be all right," he continued, looking her over and stripping her rudely with his eyes. "But you could've taken better care of her."

"If I did, she'd have killed me," she muttered, her attention at the woman on the table, being haphazardly peeled of her clothing while a pile of new, warm clothes lay beside her.

The men and women in white lab coats were clinically intent on getting Sydney Bristow undressed and clad in orange coveralls. An I.V. hung overhead, giving her what nutrition Lauren had deliberately neglected to give her.

"The liaison from your government would like to see you," the doctor continued. "If you would only stop staring at our principal specimen."

Lauren blinked in disbelief, her voice carefully neutral. "That's all she is to you? A specimen?"

"What else could she be?" the doctor replied wryly. "When all other men here play god?"

Lauren forced a bland expression, pausing a moment as Sydney's top sheared against surgical scissors and was thrust sideways. Left in a sports bra, Sydney's ribcage sported a few bruises from Lauren's manhandling and her skin stood luminous under the clinic lights. The men started cutting at her underwear, untying the knots of her pants, and Lauren looked away.

"We wicked creatures, far removed from light," she mumbled, her voice as cold as the ball that had formed at the pit of her stomach.

!-!-!-!-!-!

"Is the hefty sum to your satisfaction?"

"Of course," Lauren answered. "Enough to buy me an island and my secrecy."

"I don't suppose the Reaper himself has told you anything about the base's special facilities?" Ms. Carrie Parker said.

Lauren replied sarcastically, "Not that a British national, a team of Russian scientists, experts from Cornell and dozens of soldiers with different flags running amok in one, North Korean facility should interest me in any way."

The woman wore an impeccable suit, and glasses that did not mar the intensity of her gaze. She was slightly red with excitement, tapping her fingers on the table. Propelled to stand, she was apprehensive, conscious of Lauren's personality and the way it would overpower her if she had chosen to sit. On her chair was a white lab-coat with half a dozen pens stuck in her pockets and a notebook that was close to falling.

Ms. Parker smiled conspiratorially. "I'm here to take care of your needs, Ms. Reed. This room," she indicated the British flags on either side of her desk, pictures of past prime ministers, and case files with citizens from the United Kingdom on their covers, "is analogous to British soil. The facility is a joint international effort.

"Sydney Bristow will certainly put us ahead of our research, prove other factions their theories. In this, we will be closer to our goal in an unthinkable, progressive way. She is a most valuable asset. Certainly, tipping the scale to our favor and saving us millions of dollars. Just this one agent can give us the secrets to…ah well, now I've gotten ahead of myself. It isn't my place to say."

Lauren Reed had tilted her head to one side, unable to decide if the woman was merely gloating or if the whole facility favored mindless indiscretion.

The other woman continued, "Having done your government and the world a great service, you ought to have the pleasure of reaping what you sow."

"Knowledge," Lauren surmised, "is power," half-expecting the woman to pull out a remote and start a slide-show.

"Very good. I'm glad you're enthusiastic about a tour," Ms. Parker gushed. "Dr. Richard Jones from Princeton and Cornell is one of our resident scientists and would gladly show you around, if he wasn't such a busy buffoon. The guard outside will show you to his office."

"Thank you," Lauren said, as Ms. Parker's pocket beeped and the woman pulled out her messaging device.

"Not a problem," Ms. Parker said, fetching her lab coat and hurriedly putting it on as she left the room. "I have to go. I hope you learn something; not that Richard wasn't a brilliant professor during his time." Ms. Parker put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, what am I saying? He still _is_ a brilliant professor. Part of the reason why he received the grant to begin with. Well, why we received _all_ our 'grants'."

She chuckled as she disappeared behind the door, leaving Lauren to disseminate Ms. Parker's body language, the hidden implications of her speech, and the details of this lovely, English room in the privacy of her head.

Allowing the guard to lead her through white corridors with the occasional warning lights signaling the start of contagious/bio-hazardous territory, she counted eighty flags from eighty countries, in eighty rooms analogous to eighty national identities and their soil. Here in one very questionable place.

!-!-!-!-!-!

**Author's Notes:** (I have a feeling this is going to turn very AU very soon). I'm sorry if posting this took so long; I had to dance around plot bunnies. As per request, Sydney's capture is explained (at least in part). The premise of this particular testing facility is built around the notion that certain places aren't as rigorous about human rights. I _also_ don't follow the show Alias and I've never seen it with Melissa George's characters so do tell me if certain details are shot, if there are errors in the story (textual or otherwise), etc. Don't forget to review (points at blue/purple button at the lower left corner for users)! Special thanks to _Meadow_ and the LJ community _girlslash_ for their support! Chapter Six will be up soon!


	6. Playing God

**Title:** _Work and Play: Part VI_  
**Author:** AsianScaper  
**Fandom:** Alias  
**Characters/Pairings:** Lauren/Syd  
**Summary:** Lauren Reed learns more about the scientists' rather shady operation while Sydney experiences it first-hand.  
**Spoilers:** Season 3  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG - for mature themes and language.  
**Genre:** General/Adventure  
**Dedication** To slash writers everywhere.   
**Feedback/Archiving:** To ask would be very lovely.   
**Disclaimer:** No offense is intended towards the North Korean government or the scientific community in general. This is in all things, a work of fiction. Characters aren't mine, except for the Reaper, the IT guy Raimes, Lauren's "men", Lt. Chekhov, and the "evil scientists" of the underground facility; I don't own the show because if I did, a lot of naughtiness would ensue. Also, excuse my very blase use of the Geneva Convention.

!-!-!-!-!-!

Down tunnels they went. Up to the abyss and back, where the facility bred into the rock like a living thing. It blossomed past underground caves and into lakes hundreds of years old. There were long catwalks designed over chasms and overhanging rooms teeming with white workers, like a hive in the buzz of action. Over-ground, it was an already impressive conglomeration of buildings. Under, it was a city, manned by tall Caucasians, sleek Africans, diminutive but brilliant Asians and wide-eyed scientists from every nation with flaring credentials emblazoned on their ID's.

Some stared at her, some greeted her hurriedly, tracing their steps back to see that it was a very attractive woman who had offered them her smile.

Her guard was a certain Lieutenant Chekhov, hard-faced and decidedly quiet. She did not bother to ask questions, spending the time examining closed doors, labels, revealing signs, and the faces of people. From them, she discerned that all who made it here were dedicated to their work in a very mindless, hell-bent way.

As they crossed another platform over an underground river that thundered about like a sonorous fiend, Chekhov gestured to the door where through it sat a man with grueling intentions and a mouth that grinned all the way to his eyes.

He stood from his place, pocketing his pen and setting aside a laptop, smiling widely with dimpled cheeks as blonde hair, tinged with grey slipped over his face in a disheveled cascade. A beard branched along his jaw line.

"Ms. Reed, I presume?" he greeted, taking her hands enthusiastically and gesturing for her to sit down; but not before he cleared the seat of his things. "Well, I don't know how I'm supposed to start with your tour except that I should answer any questions you have so far."

"Very well. Exactly what are you developing here?" she asked, her eyes sliding past a plaque on Jones' wall. With the golden plaque glinting at the corner of her eye, she barely heard his answer.

"Good question. We're developing a plethora of things, of course."

She gestured towards the commemorative inscription. "You're a…?"

He waved away her curiosity and the general awkwardness that came with asking great minds their measure. "Oh, that thing. Don't mind it. Carrie insisted I place it there; after all, we're here six months at a time. It was taking up precious space in my bag."

"Oh. I didn't know that a Nobel Laureate could be so very modest," she said, aware that his thoughts slid from the topic in a hurry. She chose not to pursue it. "And what is it that you do here, Dr. Jones?"

"Well, I don't suppose you'd be interested in actually _seeing_ what I do, now would you?" It was a rhetorical question, as he stood from his place and gestured at the guard to accompany them.

From his office, he laughed and told her how excruciating it was for him to walk to work everyday, gesturing to the chasm below and the wide spaces that sometimes fled into darkness. Still laughing, he led her to an elevator and Mr. Jones pressed a button, beginning their descent into lower, more restricted levels.

"You see, Ms. Reed, I'm not merely a geneticist," he explained, stroking his beard as he spoke. "All scientists here are somewhat Renaissance men in their own way. I have degrees in neuroscience and psychology to top my meritorious cap. But it was only last year that I began my research and only two months ago, seriously. Here, of all places where human rights have a way of slipping past the loopholes." He chuckled, unaware that his words had been tossed about without gravity.

Lauren picked up his gist immediately, her carefully schooled expression crinkling in the edges as images of Sydney fled from her recent past and angled a knife on an aching portion in her stomach.

"You're what the Americans would call 'hard-core'," Lauren admonished.

"Theory is nothing, my dear, when practical methods are involved and hypotheses proven at the instance they're made," Dr. Jones patiently replied.

This was North Korea. Theoretically, the Geneva Convention prevented atrocities like human experimentation. Thinking back, she herself thought very little of such laws, breaking teeth and spirits in many torture-oriented romps.

In practice –and doubtless, it would be a very lucrative practice –experiments on human beings, even the cloning of human embryos were no doubt un-illegal in this place. Which was why rumors of such morally questionable trials on human tissue circulated about scientific communities and leaked into media, sometimes proving themselves true.

"So you see, Ms. Reed," Dr. Jones explained, opening a door for her. "We here do what those outside cannot. The business here is unique and never for the faint hearted; here, rules need not apply and science in all its glory can be witnessed without reprieve or interference. We are, in every sense, the few who must pay the price for the many. And that office, I believe you know of…"

There his words echoed her own morale and she could not bring herself to judge him or the customs acted out in this place.

Wealth poured ceaseless into North Korea's coffers for keeping it secret, allowing it, and if discovered, taking the flak. Within its borders, none could protest its existence let alone discover it without being killed, harassed, or tortured. Here, where people disappeared at a whim and were never found again. Its neighbors, at least in surface, could not gripe against such actions, considering the country's indefinite, yet clearly existing, nuclear capabilities.

That certain governments should exploit the fact, build a facility and eventually send its most talented scientists here for hands-on experience –who would not jump at the chance, given that the scientists picked thought nothing of how inhumane it was to play with human life? They could test vast limits otherwise barred by ethics.

She herself worked at the fringes, broke laws that people may live or die; killed enemies so that children may sleep peacefully. Their parents need not worry about niceties, just their homes and their business and the drama that came with it.

"Thanks to you," Richard Jones continued, "we have also stumbled on something our beneficiaries have been eyeing for quite some time. With the help of the new specimen, certain secrets about Rimbaldi will be revealed. Secrets about the CIA, shifty government factions, and the like. If we are successful, and I have no doubt that we will be, the balance of power and knowledge may not _only_ be tipped in favor of the United States."

"But don't the Americans know about this facility?"

"Of course," Mr. Jones said, motioning to his own coat and the flag glorified on his sleeve. "Everyone wants a piece of the proverbial pie but what pieces we do turn up are likely to remain with the community until the technology is perfected. It's the scientists' prerogative; they've noticed that red tape doesn't help in pushing our agenda forward."

He paused at the entrance to an area with a very large bio-hazard sign in screaming yellow and orange warning lights. The floor, tread on by burly soldiers, shone a menacing red.

_Restricted Area: Level 8 Operations_

"So you see, Ms. Reed, we're only taking advantage of that ambiguity to satiate our own curiosities about our governments, the thin lines they walk for greater equality and justice for all." Laughing that boisterous laugh of his, he continued, "We find that Agent Bristow, seasoned veteran that she is, can not only provide us with the challenge of breaking her, but also of knowing ourselves more."

Past five security details and with an ID that had unlimited clearance, Dr. Jones walked her earnestly to his workplace.

Lauren could not describe the feeling of how minute she felt in the midst of these colossal mechanisms. The walk itself was towards a portal, one that changed the position of guts with every step, a walk that metamorphosed all her intentions and made her question the validity of her presence: her luckless attendance in the greater working of the universe, the world, the governments, the leaders, and the people. In that instance, time slowed and she breathed deeply, as though anticipating a plummet through icy water.

It took Lauren a while to recognize the woman on the chair before her. It was Sydney, her eyes bobbing beneath half-closed lids, glinting with the multifaceted kaleidoscope of drugs.

!-!-!-!-!-!

Sydney could not remember a time when she had been more drugged in her entire life. No, not those careful, long smokes in college comfort rooms, short-lived snorts in parties or fun-spiked drinks in a bar.

No, certainly not in more rigorous parts of her spy training, where final examinations consisted of being drugged then forced to pull heinous stunts that no normal (sane) human being could have accomplished. No, not when betrayal, torture, or capture came in a gin tonic or a syringe, only to be wakened to the painful realities of lost friends or lovers.

This was very different. She could not feel her body, could not command it. Breathing itself seemed altogether unmanageable, her lungs pumped like a tire with a hole the size of a golf ball, struggling. Like a dream where one forgot how to swallow. Her eyes shakily followed her thoughts, rolling from side to side, a bystander without any real presence.

Helpless. Naked. Alarmingly alone, as though her own body did not –could not, cocoon the nudity of her soul. The core of her was thoroughly exposed, the layers above and around it sliced away with emotionally formidable scissors, peeled by alarmingly potent drugs. Worming through that wound were dozens of stares, and she shivered under them, glazed with their prying and scoured by their queries.

At the corner of her protesting eyes, she could see a man with blue gloves, exposing his hands with meticulous attention, as though they would somehow peel his skin if he took them off too quickly. His limbs, sleek hands like white tendrils in pale powder were, to her mind, the knives that would end her.

This was worse than losing her clothes in a roomful of strangers.

Every human being had the right to stay hidden even from herself, certain cogs and wheels secret to everyone but a supreme engineer. It was her right to keep what little there was for when all else had been given, akin to invisible foundations that kept a structure aloft. But these intrusions…! This little rape left even tears and screams wanting.

It left little to joy, sitting like this and knowing that her life was slipping very slowly from her grasp.

!-!-!-!-!-!

Lauren Reed watched. In terrible disinterest, she watched as the Reader approached from the specimen's flank and delved like a swimmer in the pool of secrets that was Sydney Bristow. Shuddering, Sydney's body seemed removed from its brain's owner but as Loki's hands touched her, she ceased, and her eyes closed fully. Her body jerked every few minutes in protest.

It had started in the few moments Dr. Richard Jones tapped at the glass, as though provoking an animal from the other side of the zoo display. Twelve other assistants monitored Loki's progress, Sydney's primary functions, and several monitors flickered.

"The beauty of this technology," he continued. "Is that we extract knowledge unobtrusively. Though for now, we'll have to do with the drugs we've manufactured over the years. Every year, we're given specimens with particular abilities. Loki is one such specimen. Little did we know that he would be the breakthrough, reading patients in such broken, emotionally vulnerable states like a book."

Jones smiled, apparently enjoying the entire display and Lauren awarded him with her own look of concern. Somehow, in between her own curiosity and his words, disgust poured senseless into her cup and all the facades she shelved except the one she wore, grimaced.

"Ah, and here is where it gets interesting," Jones said, leaning forward and pointing to the contraptions planted against Sydney's temples. "Those devices feed images that Loki coaxes out of her to that monitor over there and we can record everything she 'remembers' unto an imaging device.

"See the implications of such technology? No need for painstaking _physical_ torture on any of our parts!" He clapped his hands, smiling broadly as he waited for Lauren's praise.

"That's very interesting, Mr. Jones." She crossed her arms under her bosom, suddenly compelled to protect herself, if figuratively.

Disappointed by her dreary reaction, he consoled himself by continuing, "Though the actual trauma of the event –such vicious violations into one's psyche, will be felt by Agent Bristow in a few days, hours even. And will remain with her for –well, we don't really know yet. The one's we've tested so far have not all fully recovered." Grinning like a child on a merry-go-round, he said, "This is only a preliminary test, to push upon her empathic barriers, so to speak, lest we break her mind completely. I trust Loki to be very gentle."

"And after this, how many more 'til the actual 'breakage'?" she asked.

"Once every three days, for two weeks," he said. "And then we break her completely, extract what we can, like a bartender squeezing an orange for the last of its pulp and juice." He seemed pleased at his own metaphor while Lauren excused herself. Preoccupied with his work, Dr. Jones gave her leave, telling Chekhov to kindly escort her outside. With the lieutenant in tow, she found her way to the comfort rooms.

Once inside, the hum of the facility accompanied her brain, lulled to sleep by victory (delivering her package, no less) and slowly, her mind ascended into a low, resonant thrum. She threw water at her face, feeling the chill and the ball at her stomach grow bigger. Her heart beat in a rhythm more appropriate for running; she stared into the blue of her own eyes, mulling over all caustic routes.

Her face crumpled and she gagged, spilling lunch into the sink, coughing as acid burned her throat. As she stumbled into a cubicle, she sat on a toilet, awake to the fact that her own body seemed disgusted with her own guts.

!-!-!-!-!-!

**Author's Notes & Review Watch:** As always, many thanks to _Meadow_ for her support, the wealth of Alias information, and for heaping praises unto every chapter. Thank you also to the LJ _girlslash_ community, and those who took the time to read and comment. You have no idea how big my heart gets when I read your reviews!

To _rieh_: I think I'm going to grow quite notorious for chopping Sydney down like this. Thank you very much for the constructive review; I really appreciate the finer points of criticism from readers. I've toned down the cussing (somehow, when I did that, the bitterness drained out. Tell me what you think; it may actually be a better read). I understand that I'm throwing a whole lot of unwarranted variants into this story, already picked up by avid fans of the show (yourself and two others so far). As the story progresses (and I hope it does!), we'll see why Lauren is as physically fit as she is, is as skilled as she is, and madly talented as she is in the story. Though Sydney Bristow may be capable of -as you say -"anything and everything", it isn't my intention to extol her; rather, I wanted to strip her to her bare essentials, to cap delicious flaws. So I put her in stark relief against someone (a rival like Lauren in perhaps more ways than one) who may be as good as -or even better -than she is, leaving her entirely and utterly without control. Which is of course, altogether horrifying (and yummy).


	7. Apart from the Plan

**Title:** _Work and Play: Part VII_  
**Author:** AsianScaper  
**Fandom:** Alias  
**Characters/Pairings:** Lauren/Syd  
**Summary:** AU: Lauren's plans are unexpectedly supplemented. Slash is at last gracing the page!  
**Spoilers:** Season 3  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG - for mature themes and language.  
**Genre:** General/Adventure  
**Dedication** To slash writers everywhere.  
**Feedback/Archiving:** To ask would be very lovely.  
**Disclaimer:** No offense is intended towards any government or the scientific community in general. This is in all things, a work of fiction. Characters aren't mine, except for the Reaper, the IT guy Raimes, Lauren's "men", Lt. Chekhov, and the "evil scientists" of the underground facility; I don't own the show because if I did, a lot of naughtiness would ensue.

!-!-!-!-!-!

"They play with them like toys y'know?" Jin was explaining to Bae. "And then, after cutting off their hands, they replace them with these devices. Man, it's like something from a science fiction movie."

Bae looked nauseated, clutching his rifle and nervously caressing it. "Jin, that's terrible."

"I know! But we're looking at the future here!" Jin exclaimed, enamored by his revelations. "I mean, all the good that could come out of it!"

"You wouldn't be talking that way if you were the one who woke up with mechanized arms," Lauren said, appearing beside them.

"Well, I'm not," Jin said, only slightly troubled. "The end justifies the means, at least in our line of work." There was that hint of a debate there, daring her to run contrary to what he was saying. But she did not and only led them to what was an approximation of an eating establishment.

They fanned out, picking off food from a communal buffet that teemed at the sides with four kinds of meat in delicious sauces and fresh vegetables. Jin picked out a piece of chicken and bit into it, placing it unto his plate while licking his fingers. Lauren, used to his manners or lack thereof, took some of the roast and a side order or salad, going through the motions even if she was not hungry.

"They must pay serious money for food like this," Jin told his counterpart who was testing the beef with a fork.

It was nearly midnight and yet, five tables of the fifteen nearby were occupied with doctors from every profession. This particular shift was relatively tame, talking in whispers as though the night above ground existed here. Some of the busboys were cleaning recently vacated tables and it was one of these that the band of mercenaries all chose to sit in.

Lauren ate in silence, Jin speaking in that rude way of his, about the appalling scientific research done while spicing it with his own, more twisted theories. Except that beneath the surface, they all knew that maybe, just maybe, those unspeakable things were happening, too.

He enjoyed cutting Bae's appetite abruptly short with stories of animal organ transfusions into human bodies. The bigger man set aside his plate of steak while picking at his potato salad.

Halfway through their meal, Lauren cleared her throat. Both men quickly shut up, looking at her expectantly and neither of them daring to eat before she had spoken.

"I need to talk to Bristow."

"And why would you want to do that?" Jin hissed, dropping his utensils and leaning in so he would not have to raise his voice. "You're risking five million dollars on _both_ of us! There is no way I'm going to help you carry out something crazy on an already illegal –and may I add, also crazy –operation!"

"Jin, stop being rude," Bae interjected, putting a hand on his shoulder which Jin brushed away fiercely.

"I am asking you because I trust you," Lauren said, very slowly. "And because you can get the job done."

Her face remained impassive but the fist holding her knife had turned white. Jin saw this and backed away, leaning against his chair, suddenly careful not to speak all inflections without prudence. With effort, his words came out, well-thought of and not instinctive, quite unlike his usual.

"Listen, _sir_, that's all well and good. We can do our jobs just fine, better than the best even. It's you we're worried about. Getting into a facility like this is next to impossible and finding her quarters, much less getting you inside will probably be one of the more reckless things we've done. Your men would follow you to whatever end but in this, they won't approve. We've already gotten this far."

Bae clucked. "Oh c'mon," he hailed. "I love a challenge; don't make such hasty generalizations." He grinned favorably at Lauren's direction.

She managed to smile haughtily, to put food into her mouth before chewing. Swallowing, Lauren lifted her head, locking gazes with Jin who sat adjacent to her.

Jin saw turmoil churning in the sea of her eyes, determination washing ashore, and an overabundance of questions that he had not expected to ever see at the end of both their careers. He looked away, unable to comprehend and threw his hands up in surrender, eating his words as he said them, "We're always behind you, Lauren. Where you lead, we follow."

!-!-!-!-!-!

They should be looking for her by now, wondering why neither of them had contacted home base in nearly three days. Except that her hope began to sink into this abyss dug at the heart of her.

Distracting herself consisted of studying how many levels below ground she was being held, probably thirty floors down, at a junction rarely visited by anyone without red badges. Perpetually lit and no daylight to speak of, she could not tell how often security was refreshed. Every so often (and the intervals were shorter and shorter, her dread of the visit reducing time in a way that escaped logic), a person –she could never really tell anymore if it was a man or a woman –stepped into her cell and had her restrained.

It was a blue liquid, viscous that it hurt, poured from a sizeable syringe to her arm. With it came an incredible lethargy that lasted for as long as the next doze. She sank into her sheets, aware of everything around her: the sanitized smell of a hospital, the low purr of electricity, the click of the nurses' heels, the tapping of metal against metal when guards made their rounds.

Beyond that, there were the pains of twenty years crashing against her, raw and abiding. More often than not, she would bring her hand to her face and find it wet, tears streaming down the sides of her cheeks while her throat uttered nothing and her face remained slack.

Her father. Her mother. Sloane. Vaughn. Lauren. The reminiscence of torture that the psychiatric department at the agency had painstakingly kept at bay. Betrayals by friends. Like a waterfall, they cascaded, streaming down like lava over a rock, polishing her surface clean then slowly scratching 'til everything was red, and bleeding, and skinned.

The drugs cut away at her edges and there were times when the lady or the man –whatever it was –asked her questions and she would answer without thought.

Anger built in the core of her; anger at her mouth's indiscretion, anger at her tears, anger at the way she was kept like a trembling child who answered to their every whim.

She visibly cringed as the latches on the door clicked and the familiar harbinger of pain stepped in, its mouth covered in white fiber and those eyes hidden behind laboratory glasses. A guard stepped warily inside, talking into his collar. Sydney eyed the figure, noticing the sleek frame, the blond hair slipping past her cap. It was a woman, after all. She had been too drugged before to notice.

"Don't bother fighting."

_I won't. I can't._ Sydney looked up at the ceiling, a whimper escaping her throat as the guard held her down and thoughts she never knew would come, hovered with certainty. _I won't. I can't._ The man bruised her elbows and she winced.

"Sod it Bae," the lady said, her English accent thick. "Unhand her."

"Sorry, you wanted it to look convincing." The man quickly tucked his hands away and pointed to the door. But not before he winked at Syndey and said in Korean, "Hello, remember me?" It was one of Lauren's men, the one who was supposed to carry her to this dreadful, god-forsaken place before the other spoke and got punished. He continued, "I'll wait outside."

"What the…?" Sydney started, her speech slurred, her disbelief pulling everything to coherence. She looked from the retreating guard to the nurse and back.

Bae closed the door behind him, saying, "I'll knock twice when our fifteen minutes are over."

The woman in white turned to her, tearing her mask and disposing of her glasses. "I need you to listen." Lauren appeared beneath the wolf's clothing, ephemeral against the stark, facility lights as a faint blush painted the pale of her skin. The sleeves of her coat revealed camo over-alls.

"I don't know what missing a dose of this substance," she lifted the blue syringe and watched as Sydney withdrew from it almost instinctively, "will do to you." She threw the needle to the far end of the room. "But either way, I need to know how long you can hold out."

"I _haven't_…been…holding out _at all_," Sydney breathed.

"I suppose I ought to be grateful you aren't recovered," Lauren joked. "Or I'd get a serious beating, hey?" She removed her gloves hastily, rubbing her hands before she reached out for her. Sydney recoiled, her fists at the ready. Lauren seemed wary of her, conscious of Sydney's proficiency at self-defense. "Give me some credit, will you? I'm trying to help you."

"You wouldn't have subjected me to all this crap if you ever 'tried to help me'," Sydney spat, hatred gurgling in bursts that she, like everything else these days, could not control.

It was unlike her, to be so fervent, uncannily fueled by fury, as though intent on proving everyone wrong. The entire three days had seemed like a dizzying reel with demons she did not know burrowed at some hinter part of her.

Sydney was used to pressing forward, to filling all empty spaces with service but she was immobile here, prisoner and subject to the kind of defilement one could never be ready for –could never be trained for. But she was certainly trained for something else.

Finding what little strength she had, she pushed herself against Lauren Reed with as much ferocity as she could muster, her mind pondering groggily on how to disarm her as she grabbed Lauren's coat and executed an upper-cut between them.

She met with hard resistance. "Bullet-proof vest," Lauren whispered into her ear a bit mischievously, slightly surprised at her offensive but nonetheless allowing it.

They were in such close proximity that both could feel the other heaving against their chest. Lauren moved slightly away, if only to free her own hand, putting a finger up to Sydney's face, trying to unassumingly examine her for cuts or bruises. The touch was warm, as warm as Lauren always seemed to be and something in Sydney snapped.

"Damn…you," Sydney said, shoving Lauren against a corner and reaching for Lauren's hips as she groped for a weapon strapped there. "Why." She fumbled under Lauren's lab coat as her brain fogged up and made her try harder lest she fail completely. "Do you have to be…" She fought with Lauren for a handhold on the pistol. "So damned blithe about all this?"

Lauren, aware that time was ticking more quickly against their favor, grabbed Sydney's wrists and shoved them powerfully to her sides, using Sydney's momentum by sliding her sideways and about, such that Sydney was now pinned to the wall instead of her. Sydney grunted as the air fled her lungs. Lauren, for all her skill, was grateful that the other agent was either too tired or too drugged every time she attacked.

At that moment, Sydney understood why everyone who ever touched her had gloves on except when Loki read her.

Lauren held Sydney's wrists firmly and through that touch, Sydney wakened. With one, all-encompassing breath, she smelled the other woman, the flavors of the outside, and Lauren's doubt. She grew heady with the woman's scent, with memories of English country and cobbled roads. Through it all ran a string of heat, Lauren's palpable concern, that faint particle of warmth in the cavern of ice that filled her.

Lauren flowed into her unceasing, and just as the drugs had melted all partitions, this was no exception.

The blonde operative caught her and gently, she knelt as Sydney crumpled into her and whispered, "Damn it." Sydney beat at Lauren's shoulders with her fists, the strength gone from her attack as she lowered her head against Lauren's neck. "You didn't have to come back for me."

"We're a team," Lauren said, daring to look at her with some fondness, their foreheads barely touching while she smiled wearily, sadly.

The flow ended there and Sydney looked at her with the same peculiarity, wondering what lay beneath but this time, with little more than respect. Seeing that the other woman began to feel increasingly uncomfortable under that penetrating stare, Sydney blinked and looked sideways, frowning. Sighing against her cheek, Lauren felt Sydney's lassitude as she allowed Lauren to help her up.

Bae knocked twice and entered, gazing unquestioningly at them both. "Sir, it's time to go. This place will blow in ten minutes."

!-!-!-!-!-!

**Author's Notes:** Special thanks to _Meadow_ and _rieh_ for pointing out flaws in the text and for the uplifting comments. I tousled about with the past chapters and removed some of Sydney's more edgy traits. For some reason, I particularly like this rescue scene; makes me feel kinda fluffy.

I'd like to know what you all think so don't hesitate to share your views with me! (Points at blue button at the bottom left corner of the page).


	8. Playing with Fire

**Title:** _Work and Play: Part VIII_  
**Author:** AsianScaper  
**Fandom:** Alias  
**Characters/Pairings:** Lauren/Syd  
**Summary:** The escape.  
**Spoilers:** Season 3  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG - for mature themes and language.  
**Genre:** General/Adventure  
**Dedication** To slash writers everywhere.  
**Feedback/Archiving:** To ask would be very lovely.  
**Disclaimer:** No offense is intended towards any government or the scientific community in general. This is in all things, a work of fiction. Characters aren't mine, except Lauren's "men"; I don't own the show because if I did, a lot of naughtiness would ensue.

!-!-!-!-!-!

"No time to explain," Lauren clipped, running through the corridors with her men in tow.

"I want…an explanation," Sydney muttered in Korean, bouncing indecorously against Bae's shoulder.

"You were the variant," Bae explained. "This was supposed to be a break in, blow it up operation."

"What?"

"She used you to get in," Bae clarified in between breaths, impressing Sydney with his ability to run, point his gun, carry her, and tell a story all at the same time. "And then, it got complicated.

"Now we're rescuing you, _while_ hacking into the mainframe, _while_ evacuating civilians from the building, _while_ defending our interests, and _while_ planting bombs."

"Bombs?"

"Well, at least what I think was a –Jung, what was it again?"

A shorter man running alongside them gunned down an intruder behind before huffing, "H-bomb that Ha-neul designed. The boss had been carrying on her person from America. Very small, very handy, very strong."

Sydney rolled her eyes, "Well, that was a _very_ accurate description," recalling that Lauren had indeed said she was carrying something important when they had first landed in the country.

A section named "Mainframe" had its sign line in silver and engraved meticulously on a wall. Through doors leading inside burst two of Lauren's brightest techs, grinning like maniacs beneath their goggles as one of them waved a storage device and fumbled with what looked like a very powerful laptop.

"We got it," they said in unison, allowing Jin access to the smaller one's backpack, stowing the technology away. "We could sell this stuff for a fortune. For the _world_!"

"Not just yet," Lauren replied. She tapped the shoulders of those on look-out, dressed in the same, black camo-wear and ordered them to guard their flanks. "We aren't out of the woods yet."

Lauren's men were more than qualified for their jobs, versed in their individual functions, covering the rear and flank and oftentimes even Lauren's person with unwavering dependability. They issued hand signals with deftness; an innate understanding of what the other needed kept them highly coordinated.

Lauren herself did not need to speak; her body language gave them everything they needed to know and she, like a good leader, allowed them the liberty of decision-making. Like an expert choreographer, Lauren permitted a height of individuality that did nothing to fragment their sense of teamwork.

Through corridors, one would arm a bomb while three others kept watch and shot any opposition with uncanny accuracy and grace, as though the intrusions had been expected. Twelve men, including Jin and Bae, would do it in turns.

The rest of her men herded civilians lost or frantic in the fray towards a different, heavily guarded and common route.

Lauren had a three-man scout team who were fed data from the outside concerning obstructions, camera feeds, and security movements within the facility. They were constantly speaking into their microphones, broadcasting orders with their hand movements while Lauren herself moved by instinct, supplemented by their information.

The operation had apparently gone through an extensive development period. Everything was executed without hindrance and the group flowed in and out of each other as though they had known their partners all their lives.

"Sir, the passage ahead is protected. There will be static from the trip here to the surface. HQ cutting transmission in five, four, three, two…now." The three-man team removed their earphones in unison, their semi-automatics held steady as they held three key positions: front, back and center, harmonizing the group's movements like shepherd dogs over a flock.

They neared a passageway, where light trickled through from a door leading to the surface at the other end. Lauren was quick to decipher her tactics. "Last bottle-neck. Fan-out. Bae, to the rear. Ha-neul, the middle."

Sydney grumbled as Bae scrambled to follow Lauren's instructions.

"I'd really rather she knew how to walk," Jin complained. "She's slowing us down."

Lauren ignored him.

She threw a smoke bomb, and waited. After a few moment, the sounds of coughing resonated throughout the corridor, bouncing off the walls in different directions. "Six of them," she said, pointing, "two there, another three there, and one behind the vents. Jin, I want you to take Jung and draw the first two out; I won't get a good shot until you do. The rest I'll take care of."

The smoke began to seethe noiselessly towards them and Lauren climbed a shaft to a platform that eventually jutted over the corridor. With her semi-automatic H&K rifle, she waited as Jin and Jung played turkey. Two of their intended adversaries took the bait, coughing as they revealed their positions and began to open fire at both her men. Jin and Jung quickly leapt out of the way.

The smoke grew thicker and soon, visibility was in inches. Everyone put on tiny breathers: six-inch long tubes of oxygen fitted snugly into one's mouth. Bae stuffed one into Sydney, who expressed her gratitude with a nod.

Their irritated throats betrayed their locations; Lauren quickly and efficiently sniped at all six men with six accurate bullets. In a few seconds, six distinctive _thumps_ sounded in succession. After which, she clambered down and gestured for Jin to lead the way, holding out her hand as Jung gave her more ammo.

"She's very good," Sydney muttered to herself.

She could feel Bae grin. "She's the best."

!-!-!-!-!-!

It was at two o'clock in the morning that Lauren's call patched through under an emergency distress signal. Vaughn was wakened rudely from his sleep and summoned to the office. During the car ride there, barking orders on the phone as assistants scurried to get him information, the space around him seemed to constrict. He tried to keep the panic from his voice, the little fear dilating to wild proportions.

His temper short, he almost snagged another car on the highway, cursing the motorist with a finger and his own frustration.

There were certain divides not meant to be crossed and at this moment, his affections for both Lauren and Sydney knew no real divide. It was not very often that Sydney failed so miserably: no contact, no tracking devices, no mission accomplished. It was not often that Lauren made distress calls at the expense of Sydney's more thorough report.

His heart constricted at the thought and a throbbing head-ache began. Expecting the worse was part of the business; but expecting the worse for them both was something else entirely.

By the time he arrived at the office, somebody handed him his coffee black and he gratefully swigged the beverage, even as it scalded his tongue. Coffee in hand, he rushed to what had been converted into a make-shift control room.

He quickly positioned himself in front of an LCD.

"Where are you right now?" Vaughn demanded, taking note of Lauren's worn expression, the panic bubbling to the surface, her nerves frayed from lack of sleep.

"_There's no time to explain. Are you getting all this?"_

"Yes!" Vaughn growled, trying to look past her. "It's streaming in a torrent. We haven't heard from you in days, so we tried going through the proper channels to see if you've been captured and much to our chagrin, none of you have turned up. I didn't know if we were supposed to be relieved!"

Everyone worked frantically with their computers, copying and filing all the information Lauren was sending them, putting them through to certain departments and making calls to practically every significant agency. The control room was buzzing with activity and Vaughn could barely hear himself speak, "The report you submitted has very disturbing implications. You have evidence of this facility?"

"_I'm uploading pictures and other files from the mainframe right now,"_ she told him.

Vaughn noticed that she seemed altogether harassed. "What's this about Lauren? Where's Sydney?"

She looked at him, as though pleading. "_Don't make this harder than it already is."_

Vaughn saw the gigs of raw data coming in on one monitor. Decoded, it spilled into the biggest screen in the room. Some of materials he read were things he could barely believe were possible. "Tell me you're all right," he said slowly, his breath catching as he read the facts and figures more thoroughly. "God, Lauren, what have you done? This isn't what we sent you there to do."

Her shoulders sagged and her face rumpled in capitulation. Fate nipped at her heels. "_I don't know _what _the issue will be, Vaughn. What I've already done or what I'm about to do. I'm sending you coordinates; organize a chopper and a medical team right away."_

"Has someone been hurt?" Vaughn asked, suddenly agitated that none of his questions were answered satisfactorily. "Where's Sydney?" he repeated, his voice rising in irritation and dread.

Lauren's breath hitched. Her face remained collected, wary of emotion but tears were running down her cheeks, clearing a path through the grime. "_I'll get her back to you safely. As safely as I can. Just send the extraction team; either way, she'll be with you in forty-eight hours."_

An explosion rocked the transmission. Vaughn and half the room discarded their headphones as it screeched through their audio. On the screen, Lauren was hunched over her computer, covering her head as another blast sent debris showering over her. Voices speaking in Korean slipped through the transmission. Over the din, a voice, "_Sir, the jeep's ready. Ha-neul's detonated the second set."_

Vaughn's eyes widened, holding the LCD as though it were Lauren herself, "What the…? Detonating what set? Lauren, what's happening? What's the meaning of…?"

"Sir, we're losing video and data feeds!"

Lauren looked at him, if a bit fondly, and there was a certain honesty there he had never seen before, not in two years of marriage and days of munificent laughter, "_You'll never trust me again and you may even hate me,"_ she said as the static escalated. "_But know this: I did everything right."_

The transmission was cut and a few moments later, one of his men came running, crashing against a fellow office mate before finally making it to Vaughn's side. Barely able to speak, he said, "There's been a nuclear explosion below ground in North Korea. South Korea and China have just increased their alert levels."

!-!-!-!-!-!

**Author's Notes:** Action-packed enough, I hope? Thanks so much to those who read, reviewed, who showered praises, and who provided me with comprehensive critiques. Special thanks to _michaelvartanrocks_ for the encouragemnt. To _dthstlkr_, I only have kind words of gratitude. To _Meadow_, thank you for keeping up with me. I hope Vaughn's character was well fleshed out.

Reviews are always appreciated. (Points to bottom left corner). I love hearing from my readers :) so drop me a line and tell me what you think.


	9. Grant Me This

**Title:** _Work and Play: Part IX_  
**Author:** AsianScaper  
**Fandom:** Alias  
**Characters/Pairings:** Lauren/Syd  
**Summary:** There is more to life than triumph and wealth. Lauren once more meets with the Reaper and begs something of Death.  
**Spoilers:** Season 3  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG - for mature themes and language.  
**Genre:** General/Adventure   
**Dedication** To slash writers everywhere.   
**Feedback/Archiving:** To ask would be very lovely.   
**Disclaimer:** No offense is intended towards any government or the scientific community in general. This is in all things, a work of fiction. Characters aren't mine, except Lauren's "men"; I don't own the show because if I did, a lot of naughtiness would ensue.

!-!-!-!-!-!

Racing through the terrain in a jeep, passengers could do little else than witness the scenery in a blur. Trees in thick, green lines, the land beneath slipping past in uniform shades of brown and grey, while the mountains stood abroad, inert. Rain battered the roof-less vehicles, searing into their jackets, running down the leather of their seats, drafting their guns with spatters. Smoke rose behind them, miles away but the memory of the exhilarating getaway fresh on all their faces.

The wind was a blistering chill, forcing all their mouths and noses beneath clothing. They struggled to keep within the vehicle as the jeep soared over rocks and crossed a creek that left them all wet. Sharp, heart-wrenching turns bruised their limbs, their eyes wide with fear while the driver gritted her teeth as anger scraped her eyes and made them burn.

Jin did not have the courage to tell her that she was driving too fast.

He could see that the woman was much too concerned with some biting pain to notice her men complaining under their breaths. It certainly was not the bullet lodged against the breast of her bullet-proof wear, the one that had driven her unconscious a few hours before.

He did not dare voice out his incredulity: Sydney Bristow was safely returned; the CIA's poster child who had cracked through Lauren's perpetual cool (and –may he add –petulance) while doing absolutely nothing. He was probably the only one who could see water glittering between her goggles and mouth-piece.

Bae had noticed, too. "What's eating her?" Bae asked him, struggling to keep his voice level as they rushed into rocky terrain. "She rescued that Bristow didn't she?"

"I don't know. We don't have to know. We'll be rid of her in two hours. Her chopper's due for arrival any time now and I'm driving us all back to port, thank god."

"Jin," Bae berated him.

"Look," Jin said, shooting Bae a dangerously caustic look. "All I know is that once we drop her, we disappear. We disappear to the Caribbean and live off our lovely checks in complete bliss.

"I don't care if she follows us there; we're all retiring for good. If we stick around, some serious shit is going to blow over and neither of us would want to be there." Jin cursed softly as the jeep swayed against an obstacle. He grumbled in continuation, "On the other hand, our hard earned money may amount to nothing if she continues to drive like this."

Bae was silent, picking his jacket thoughtfully as he rocked in his seat while he held himself steady with his other hand. "What else can happen? We have our money, we've done our jobs," he said. Then he added as though in afterthought, "Shouldn't we be there when that serious shit happens?"

Jin rolled his eyes, ignoring the bigger man. But slowly, through uncertain topography and the constant threat of being thrown off without a thought from their preoccupied captain, he frowned in contemplation of what Bae had said.

"No," Lauren said, between both their reveries. She slowed the jeep down, cutting the engine and stared, lackluster, at the windshield. Everybody, more than relieved of the peace provided their bodies, sat attentive to the exchange.

Jin looked as though he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his rifle between himself and her, pointed up at the sky as though to ward him from her wrath.

"S-sir?" he asked feebly.

"I said no," she interjected more firmly. "No, neither of you will be there when the shit hits the fan. Not one of you."

"So it actually will?" Bae asked incredulously, in awe of Jin's prediction, while Jin could not help himself by saying, "But sir, we have everything we want and need!"

The light had gone from her eyes and there was something there that worried Jin to silence. Lauren had a brand of determination that razed her a path –direct and unhesitant –to her destination. Beneath the limelight of his gaze, her eyes seemed veiled in thought, locked in a moral debate that for once, would be won by a party that Lauren rarely listened to.

"I'm going back."

"Sir?" Jin exclaimed, disregarding all notions of respect and fear for his boss. "Back to that hell-hole where they shoot allies and reward them with bullet-holes for their trouble? Back to that crappy husband when you could be having glorious tans under a Caribbean sun? Are you crazy?"

"I am," Lauren said. "I have been, for a time." With those words, her mind flooded with memories of dimpled cheeks and dark hair, a determined square jaw that softened by virtue of a smile.

!-!-!-!-!-!

"I cannot always grant you your whims."

"Grant me this one," she said.

The Beer Hold parking lot, lit by one city lamp, glittered like a black mamba all about her, the concrete writhing against the rain.

They were seated side by side on a city bench, the Reaper to her left, as he straightened his trench-coat and shared his umbrella. The rain spattered down the sides, leaving wet spots on her coat.

Her weapons were tucked snugly beneath her skirt. She knew that at this moment in time, there would be no use for them. But it always paid to be prepared.

"You've done very well, Ms. Reed, I admit," the Reaper said. "But she will remember everything and betrayal will always be bitter, not easily forgotten. Your intentions are off-center."

"You half-expected me to fail," she grated.

"You risked quite a lot for her rescue," was his smug reply. "You've done us all a service, regardless. The scientists have pending international court orders for violations against human rights. The media has been prying. I don't think anything quite like this will be repeated in the near future. You accomplished your mission, yes, but you've compromised your cover."

"It's about time we all climbed out of our shells," Lauren said, if a bit bitterly. "I know I have."

The Reaper sighed. "You brought it upon yourself, Ms. Reed. Was she worth all that risk? Knowing now that the government will be after you for your treachery in spite of her rescue and the information you've provided? She was that slight departure –that mistake, or dare I say benefit, at the very end of the road that's brought the wrath of nations upon you."

He chuckled at his description. _The Wrath of Nations._

There was nothing funny about an international man-hunt, with the Interpol and the FBI at your heels. Certainly, it was less funny when half of those after you were known, international agencies while the other half consisted of shady, supposedly non-existent sorts, with no names and whose dubious devices were used to track and kill.

But just recently, she had evaded detection by jumping four floors, lucky enough to be saved by a dumpster. She had clambered out and there, at the mouth of the alley, stood the Reaper himself. He then gestured to his van's yawning salutation of safety.

Lauren stayed quiet during the ride, reflecting on just how close she was to her demise. She was not surprised to see that they had stopped at the Beer Hold parking lot, where everything had begun.

She was already drenched in the rain when the Reaper appeared from the shadows, smiled, and offered the shelter of his umbrella. It was a kindness she had not been familiar with in the world of hired guns and underhanded crooks.

They sat at the bench and Lauren, filled to the brim with her experience, spoke of everything she knew and felt, and the burdens of her years poured into the Reaper's cup as story upon story, pain upon pain, and even murderous joy coursed out of her mouth.

Death had every right to laugh.

Now here she was. Lauren closed her eyes, unable to keep her façade, melting vigilance with a pained expression.

_The brunette had fallen asleep on Lauren's shoulder, peaceful in a way that calmed her. Once Lauren met the other woman's gaze, wakened from some peaceful but elusive sleep, there was something there she could not fathom and it made her ache, in a way that only touch and desire could. _

_Both their masks had somehow thawed in the tension. _

_Her men had taken cover among the trees while she, Jin and Bae kept watch at a clearing that possessed a magnificent view of the mountains. The peaks liquefied into the sky, sipping from heaven with an indulgent thirst. _

_The rhythmic bass of a helicopter thudded in the air, crossing the horizon; its silhouette came, small at first and rapidly getting bigger as it traversed the expanse. Hovering, the machine lowered a stretcher, towering loudly overhead. _

_Bae moved quickly, picking Sydney up from the front seat and securing her into the contraption. He gave the team above, men clad in inconspicuous black, the go signal and Sydney was pulled carefully from the ground to the vehicle above. _

_There were no goodbye's between them, just brief glances self-consciously terminated. It was at that last moment when Lauren raised a hand, offering a small smile that Sydney returned a long, half-yearning look. Lauren's expression turned strangely enigmatic. _

_Sydney eventually threw her head back in relief. When she did so, she saw something metal glinting over the helicopter's flank. Sydney shouted, "No! Lauren...!" _

Boom.

_One turbulent shot to the chest and Lauren felt all the air run from her lungs as the bullet pounded against her vest. Jin raised his pistol to the helicopter but Lauren grabbed his arm. "Let them go; there's no need for any of you to get yourselves killed." Feeling her left breast, she said, "Ah shit, the bloody sod hit me." _

"_Let me at them! The sons of bitches!" Jin shouted incredulously. _

"_But the sons of bitches have the team player," Bae said judiciously, referring to his earlier load. He pushed Jin aside and told him to just shut up for once. _

_Forced unto her back, Lauren sighed heavily. Exhaustion which had crept behind her all day, took its chance and pounced, forced her eye-lids closed and allowed her to sleep. _

_Sydney, looking down at the woman surrounded by her armed unit, felt a pang not unlike concern. Her hands had been touched by snow as she clutched the ropes that pulled her up, her brain warring with churning emotions of distress. Then an unspeakable pressure rammed against her chest as she saw Lauren's eyes close and her head dipping to one side. _

_Over the din, she could hear the sniper, "I got her, straight to the chest. Go! Go! Go!"_

"You're not making this very easy for yourself," the Reaper continued. "You've tempted fate far too many times."

"But I wish to _believe_," Lauren whispered passionately.

"True, the data stream wasn't complete, as was intended. But we've discovered that they would rather kill you and all the secrets that come with you than unearth what you've only just started to reveal." The scarf covering his mouth ruffled with his breath. "Most people are never ready for the truth, drowning it intentionally when the force of it smothers their quest for power."

Lauren, her eyes dull, laughed in a way that chilled the air and rivaled the rain's impending frost. "I knew the consequences from the beginning and how peace could never be mine because of one –just one –person. But truth," she said softly, "never smothered her."

"You are persistent, Ms. Reed, and more optimistic than those who have struggled in your place."

The heaping figure of black coat and thick scarves heaved a sigh, the umbrella quivering with his movements. She turned her body fully towards the Reaper, ready to invade the infinite space he seemed to occupy. Her words were foreign to her but nonetheless true and in them, flounced echoes of what-could-have-been's. "Grant me this. Just this once, allow me some hope."

The sound of her appeal streamed out into the open lot, tinkling with the rain as it hung there, waiting with the darkness for a herald of light.

!-!-!-!-!-!

**Review Watch:**

_dthstlkr_ - I'm glad you thought the last chapter was excellent. I hope you enjoy this one just as much.  
_Lillian Reed_ - Thanks so much for dropping by and making time for a review. I really appreciate it.  
_michaelvartanrocks_ - If you're looking for Vaughn and Sydney together, I don't think I can indulge you. It's intended as a Sydney/Lauren fic and I hope you aren't adverse to slash. But if you'd read it for the story...I think that'd be really special. I look forward to your comments!  
_Meadow_ - Addressing your nuclear bomb question; the explosion was underground. I don't know how lethal that is... let's just assume that it hasn't killed or radiated our characters. Hahaha. I hadn't specified at what time they had detonated the h-bomb. They did, however, detonate _many sets of bombs_ beforehand. Hope that helps. :) I was actually more worried about evacuation time!

Reviews are always appreciated. (Points to bottom left corner). I love hearing from my readers :) so drop me a line and tell me what you think. Three more chapters to go!


	10. Finding One's Way

**Title:** _Work and Play: Part X_  
**Author:** AsianScaper  
**Fandom:** Alias  
**Characters/Pairings:** Lauren/Syd  
**Summary:** Sydney is finally home, safe with Vaughn but someone tips the delicate balance.  
**Spoilers:** Season 3  
**Rating/Warnings:** R - for sexual themes and language.  
**Genre:** General/Adventure  
**Dedication** To slash writers everywhere.  
**Feedback/Archiving:** To ask would be very lovely.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the show because if I did, a lot of naughtiness would ensue. The Reaper is mine and his quote at the end is Shirley's.

!-!-!-!-!-!

Vaughn did not find her pleased with the state of inactivity the agency had enforced on her but she had taken the small vacation in stride, learning to cook more proficiently, refining her skills, getting back in ridiculously good shape and enjoying the general feel of liberty. Visiting her apartment, he studied her from the foyer, the late afternoon sun seeping past her curtains and bathing her in light. She had her sleeves up while she washed the greens and the water from the faucet glinted like jewels against her skin.

Of late, there had been no trace of Lauren Reed, the ignominious traitor who had put everything, including Sydney, in jeopardy. Her betrayal pulled at his own rage but it stirred an intimate part of him that had erupted in pain.

…that he had never really known her; that he had shared his bed with her. That he had _married_ her.

But that she had brought Sydney back was a token he could not leave unremembered and it somehow relieved him of his hurt, increased his clemency. Looking at Sydney, he was nonetheless grateful that half of him was present and that the other half was, well…absent.

Whichever was better was a matter of finding out.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"You're already in," Sydney said from across the hall.

A smirk followed her statement; he bit his lip with indecision as he continued to lean at the entrance, putting his brief case in front of him. "I'm sorry about Lauren," his face scrunching as he waited for a scathing comment.

"You really shouldn't mention her at a time like this," Sydney said, wiping her hands and leaning backwards to take a look at him. "You look tired."

"I am. Long day in the office."

She chuckled softly. "So what brings you here?"

"Well…" he fumbled with his hands, tucking them there, putting them here, stroking his chin with his palm, shifting his bag from one to the other. "I don't really know."

She appeared from the kitchen, walking out with a bowl. "It must be for the garden salad and my terrible cooking. Yum," she teased, handing him a plate. "Help yourself."

He smiled curtly. "Thanks."

Sydney put her plate aside after they had settled down. Pouring herself a glass of water, she suddenly said, "In retrospect, I don't know if we should avoid the subject."

"Well, we can," Vaughn told her gently. "Up until we finish eating anyway."

!-!-!-!-!-!

Sydney endeavored to keep her air casual.

"You sent the sniper," she finally said, pouring Vaughn a drink.

"She's a traitor," Vaughn offered matter-of-factly, watching Sydney's expression carefully, suddenly conscious that he did not want to upset her. And that Lauren's death should upset her was an anomaly in itself. "I was only following orders."

"She saved me," Sydney replied blankly.

"She kidnapped you and used you," Vaughn countered. "And we found substances in your blood that could have killed you, made you a vegetable, made you a variety of other things, and all of them horrific."

How was she to explain everything that had conspired?

Lauren's valiant attempt to rescue her, knowing that Sydney's limited knowledge of her motives would eventually put Lauren in the precarious position she was already in. Lauren's seemingly opaque plans, layers upon layers of conglomerated tactics that Sydney herself could barely discern.

And evidence? There was enough to show that the facility's purpose was problematic; but available (and certainly more reliable) data from the government revealed that she had destroyed a top secret endeavor and a most valuable asset worth billions of dollars. That alone put her at the top of the most wanted list.

What more: the facility was destroyed before records of Sydney's experimentation were outsourced.

Sydney, versed in that dance of hide and never tell, knew that it was a ploy to keep her silent. And silent she was, gritting her teeth at every opportunity, poker-faced towards her superiors, and wrathful at her incapacity to change the situation.

"I'm sorry," Sydney told Vaughn, regulating her voice into one of sincere regret. "I guess the whole experience just…I don't know, messed with my brain."

"It's all right, Syd. I understand."

Vaughn reached out to put a hand on her knee and she felt admonition brimming at her mouth. She fought the urge to raise her voice, to move away. The man had been honest; intolerably honest with his concern. It drowned his eyes, made him watery and this only pulled at her compassion.

She smiled at him; Vaughn felt increasingly tender towards the beauty her smile lent her. He missed it, valued it and knew that with Lauren gone this would not be the last silence share. There was relief, joy, and most of all, hope.

They exchanged a few jokes while they cleaned up and towards the end of the evening, the two of them simply sat alongside each other, enjoying the fact of their own presence, peaceful in the here and now.

!-!-!-!-!-!

Vaughn embraced her gratefully, planting an affectionate kiss on her forehead as he put on his coat and left. She watched him drive away, enjoying the night air as she rubbed her arms and breathed deeply.

Frowning, she noticed another car at a street corner as its engine started and slowly sidled up to her drive way, cutting its headlights. The driver stepped out, leaning against her vehicle with a feline look of curiosity.

"We were just talking about you," Sydney managed, unable to keep the smile from her voice.

"And you're doing incredibly well for someone who'd undergone seriously upsetting trials," the other woman commented, dressed in jeans and a navy blue top that plunged down her neckline.

Sydney was careful to keep her gaze on Lauren's face, her hair in a lackadaisical fall, slipping to her shoulders gently while her mouth remained slightly open in a playful smile.

A dark brown jacket flowed untrammeled to her knees, tapering to a small embroidered butterfly design on her thighs. Sydney found it hard to devalue Lauren's sneakers, stamps painted all over, signs perhaps, of a woman who did not take life as seriously. Lauren's beauty issued from an almost divine source, leaving a look of elegance on her visage, coiled strength on her frame, vastly capable of anything as her lips shone red and the tongue beneath moist with impish certainty; she acknowledged Sydney with a smirk.

Her blue eyes against the garden lights spoke more than words ever could. _I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am for all the terrible things I put you through._

"You look good yourself," Sydney said, knowing that they now stood on equal ground. That she was neither too tired nor too drained to be dealt Lauren's former discourtesy and that if she tried, there would be serious contention.

Sydney was not about to forget the intense danger lurking about Lauren's person, the perils that followed someone as notoriously erudite as she, who knew enough to undo any administration.

"You should really come in."

"What's life on the run, Sydney?" Lauren asked, sighing melodramatically. "No life at all, if you ask me."

Sydney bit her lip, ready to drag the other woman inside and bring an end to the game. But there was something about Lauren Reed that breathed danger, fumed with livid zeal. Everything about her poked at Sydney's caution and every word spoken seemed to multiply in meaning with every nuanced look.

To bring her into her house was akin to bringing an untamed marauder inside.

"No," Lauren said, reading her expression. She spoke to her slowly, as to a child who had difficulty understanding, "we don't want you harboring a fugitive." Again, the now recognizable concern bathed Lauren's cheeks with a form of mockery. Sydney crossed her arms before her, looking positively irritated.

"I don't want blood on my drive-way and they've been watching the house. In fact, I think they'd most likely be here in say…" She checked her timepiece, keeping her tone grave. "Oh, five minutes flat. And not before I've captured you on initiative."

"I've arranged that no such thing will happen."

She was not ready for Lauren's sudden move towards her, closing the space between them in long, perfectly lovely strides.

Sydney backed up involuntarily, meeting the resistance of her front door before Lauren grabbed the hand that was supposed to reach for the doorknob. For the umpteenth time since that first day in North Korea, they were again inches apart, this time neither of them locked in that position to muster an attack, to defend a notion, or to leave the other unbalanced.

The difference in dynamic made them both intensely aware that the outside of Sydney's home had shrunk to a space that occupied only the two of them. Lauren pushed her up against the entrance, noticing that Sydney's breathing had curiously become irregular.

Sydney did not know where to put her hands and dropped them, limbless, by her sides, glancing guiltily at Lauren's neck and biting her lip as the muscles beneath danced with predatory strength. She swallowed as Lauren's scent washed over her and the memory of her body in the many instances past, juxtaposed to the now, filtered her other senses.

"This is hardly proper behavior," Sydney managed, breathing shallowly against Lauren's encompassing body heat.

"No?" Lauren asked playfully, pushing her harder against the door.

"No," Sydney dumbly replied, staring, nonplussed, at Lauren's lips.

"You can tell me how to act accordingly," Lauren suggested sweetly, her voice hoarse as she leaned forward and whispered into her ear, feeling Sydney quiver at the proximity, "Or I can do with you as I please."

"I…" Sydney was at a sudden, maddening crossroads, unexpectedly faced with a cyclone and no where to run for miles around. In the face of that powerful squall, sucking matter with vicious delight, she found no words.

Neither of them knew who initiated the kiss, that sudden, vicious pull of gravity, or how their lips slid into each other and melted into nips, gentle explorations, irrepressible forces that made the door protest against their weight. Lauren could not have pushed any harder as Sydney moaned against excursions into her mouth.

How had it come to this? How…

Lauren forced her thigh in between Sydney's legs and the butterfly embroidery on her jeans produced so much delicious friction that Lauren found herself groaning from deep inside her throat, releasing Sydney's hand as she slipped a palm beneath her shirt.

Sydney opened to her almost immediately, plagued with uninhibited trust as she lay supple under Lauren's ministrations. A touch there, a taste here and…

…her defenses folded and she welcomed it as though under the drug, allowing her gentle intruder sway over her facades, unwrapping gently, peeling slowly. Her own hands found themselves under Lauren's jacket, fumbling with the ill-mannered shirt as she wrestled to feel the skin beneath.

Lauren ground wantonly against her and thought shattered to pieces that Sydney had no intention of picking up.

_Oh God, I'm losing it. I'm losing it and she's a wanted criminal._

The thought of it, Sydney's seemingly reckless endeavor to touch every icy niche of her, melt it to embers, sparked the plugs of Lauren's desire.

!-!-!-!-!-!

They pulled apart for air, both reaching for reprieve and jolted awake by the space between them. But for all their attentiveness, their darkened eyes stared at each other over a brazen, amoral expanse. Their limbs were limp with confusion and neither could discern where she ended and the other began.

"I trust," Lauren began, softly speaking as she leaned against Sydney's throat and savored such sweet skin beneath, "that you would use this wisely." She slipped a disk into Sydney's hands, caressing her fingers, twining them with her own.

Lauren tenderly pushed aside strands of Sydney's hair that had unwittingly turned loose during their passionate exchange.

One last touch, a whiff of memory, a taste from bruised lips.

Then she pulled away completely as every part of her, every pore, protested.

Lauren tucked her hands into her pockets and left Sydney standing at her driveway, looking as though a limb had been removed, confiscated.

Lauren gave her a lingering look, sadness and joy and hope and knowledge of what may have been burnished upon the sapphire of her eyes. Sydney, her brain silenced and paralyzed, remained in a hushed, confused bundle.

Lauren had already driven away when Sydney placed her fingers on her lips, feeling the tingle there, the enlivening pinch, feeling Lauren's ghost as it began to haunt her door.

The Reaper watched with care, smiling as he whispered, "'Only the actions of the just, smell sweet and blossom in their dust.'"

With the opportunity gone and the hands changed in haste, he knew Lauren Reed would disappear from all the world and that Sydney Bristow would never forget.

!-!-!-!-!-!

**Review Watch**

Ceaseless thanks to the avid readers and to the following reviewers:  
_dthstlkr_ - I believe "excellent" is more than flattering and those repetitions don't go unheard. Thank you!  
_m_ - Well, whoever you are, thank you for reading and reviewing!  
_michaelvartanrocks_ - I'm glad to see you haven't given up on me:) Thanks so much for reading; I feel honored that you've decided to continue reading.  
_Meadow_ - Your review, however short, is always, always welcome. Thank you.

I'm already wondering if this is the end to this though I _did_ promise 12 chapters. It all depends on my beta, who'll start the bloody massacre of my work next week. Reviews are always appreciated. (Points to bottom left corner). I love hearing from my readers :) so drop me a line and tell me what you think.


	11. In Complete Surrender

**Title:** _Work and Play: Part XI_  
**Author:** AsianScaper  
**Fandom:** Alias  
**Characters/Pairings:** Lauren/Syd  
**Summary:** Some things just have to be done.   
**Spoilers:** Season 3  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG - for mature themes and language.  
**Genre:** General/Adventure   
**Dedication** To slash writers everywhere.   
**Feedback/Archiving:** To ask would be very lovely.   
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the show because if I did, a lot of naughtiness would ensue. The Reaper is mine and his quote at the end is Shirley's.

!-!-!-!-!-!

It was a clammy afternoon at Terrence Street. The thick greenery planted by enthusiastic city planners flagged against a warm wind, covering buildings like emerald scales. Leaves of what looked like a mulberry tree proffered the space under it some shade, breathing over the huge van there.

The Ford was a misleading dark grey. Its interior hummed with equipment, wires snaking lazily in and out of the bulkhead, through the floors and peeking past panels that had been exposed for purposes of practicality.

It was warm in the vehicle, the temperature exacerbated by the heat of the equipment. Lauren wiped beads of sweat from her forehead, blinking to keep water from her eyes, a supplicant for air-conditioning as she observed her companion from her cramped space at the surveillance station.

The Reaper was dressed tightly in the same black attire, the lapels of his coat scraping the floor as he sat cross-legged, brooding. It was an ominous cloud he brought with him, thunder rumbling in his chest as his murmurs dripped into the pages like liquid as he recited stanzas from _The Lady of Shallott_. A scarf covered his mouth and only his eyes moved to the page of poetry he read. The book was an indiscriminate hardbound collection of Tennyson's works, picked from the pile beside him.

Lauren had refrained from gathering a copy of _Wuthering Heights_ and regretted not doing so. She was now more aware of her restlessness and even more aware of the heat.

Lauren started the conversation, coaxing herself to be entertained. "I never thought you to be a romantic," she said, emboldened by his presence, giddy with the prospects of what-could-be's.

She had nothing to lose, now. Nothing but her own life.

The camera feeds flickered and her eyes followed the figure in them just as the Reaper flipped the page and ignored her.

"As soon as she leaves the building," the Reaper said, not once lifting his gaze, "You'll know what to do."

Lauren had the impudence to look at him askance. "Don't gawk, Ms. Reed," he berated, his voice deep with indifference. He turned another leaf, his index finger rolling down stanzas and rhyme. "Keep watch, and you'll know what I mean."

!-!-!-!-!-!

Night chased away the day. Sunset still broadened the sky but the streets hung with enough darkness that city lights lit up in a stimulating tandem.

Lauren emerged from the roasting van just as another lady in a form-fitting coat rounded the corner a few meters ahead of her. Lauren shook herself, the movement warming her in the quickly cooling air, shedding her agitation.

Terrence Avenue was unusually quiet but for the ticks of rousing insects and the crisp click of the other's leather boots.

Lauren Reed decided to follow the brunette's leisurely pace, up until Lauren almost ran into her. The other woman had stopped her stroll with the intention of confronting her stalker.

"Oh my." Lauren gave her a gracious smile, taking a courteous step back. "We meet again."

Sydney simply stood there, dropping her automated defense as she decided on whether to believe that this was indeed Lauren Reed or that the fading light was playing tricks on her. She decided for the former, not quite ready to concede her sanity every time Ms. Reed visited.

Lauren quipped, "Funny, how we seem to 'bump into each other' at every opportunity. How was your last trip to the agency?"

"You don't understand, do you?" Agent Bristow crossed her arms beneath her bosom. Lauren's eyebrow quirked at the movement as she stared shamelessly at what that had underscored.

Sydney quickly put her arms against her sides, her cheeks a darker shade of red. She continued without wavering, "I'm monitored at every corner; the conversations I hold are never mine. You never would have spoken if you knew who was listening at the other end."

Lauren waited patiently for her to finish before asserting her own magnetism, "What if I told you that at this very moment in time, and during our little moment last week, our conversations were ours? And that they were ours alone?"

There was a long, contemplative pause.

Sydney's words were drawn out slowly, pre-tasted and wary, "Who are you, Lauren? Who do you work for?"

"No one I'm about to admit," Lauren slyly replied. "Though he'd likely contact you before I ever would."

"There are close to three hundred scientists being tried because of the information I've chosen to provide or rather, to withhold," Sydney grated out, obviously lured by Lauren's calm. "Eyewitnesses and alibis could only do so much. Justice," Sydney stressed, "could only do so much!

"But that disc!" Sydney threw up her arms, figuratively surrendering to the greater wheels that turned beyond even her own understanding, "The magnitude of the information in that disc is proof that it couldn't have been faked! That this would change the world, that politicians and their military and shady agencies and God knows what else, would massacre entire _populations_ to keep it secret! All of it!

"That even if I don't know you," Sydney continued, emphasizing her words with a breaking voice, "That even if I'd suspected the worst from you…" She could not continue and she wrung her hands, begging Lauren to say something.

"That I've done something right? In spite of everything? Are you admitting I was correct in every aspect?" Lauren suggested good-naturedly.

Sydney glared. "To kidnap me? To gather all the information and risk so much only to be stopped by the sheer audacity of our leaders?"

Lauren held the answer in her eyes, offering it to Sydney with clarity that did not waver, nor judge, nor expect anything in return. Sydney's anger abated and the logical decision to keep calm took over. But not before…

…She was kissed, as though on reward and she blinked, surprised just as she had been that first time. Her lips prickled with memory, given verve by means of that intimate touch.

Lauren stood so closely, touched her with such familiarity, that Sydney could barely breathe, barely keep her thoughts organized, barely rely on the control hardened and molded into her by her training.

When had she lost her sanity and her words like this?

Lauren's derring-do was accomplishing what Vaughn seemed to have trouble with these days: to leave her unthinking and breathless.

"I know," Lauren whispered softly, kindly, intimately, occupying Sydney's thoughts with the lazy slur of her voice. "I know it's hard to be put so thoroughly in my shoes."

Sydney did not realize that her tear ducts had gone haywire until Lauren's touch warned her of the moisture on her cheek. Sydney's stress and confusion had apparently just found an outlet.

The blonde continued, in that accent that seemed more real than it had ever been, "But there will be one more incentive for you, Sydney, one that the world can never, _ever_ ignore…"

Lauren's eyes inundated with meaning as they stared at each other. It was…a profound sense of the abyss, of life's wholeness shrunk to a single second. And there was sadness there, then a bright, indescribable spark of knowing that this had to be done.

Sydney blinked and wished for all eternity that she had not.

The instant she saw it, she knew that her skills at deduction had failed her by milliseconds.

The lump of metal between them reverberated with a sound that shattered Sydney's sanity, crashing into the thin membranes of her eardrums, making her vulnerability taut.

"Oh…my God," Sydney breathed out, her eyes dilating in panic. Her mouth sucked oblivion with horror as she found the air suddenly lacking in oxygen.

They both sank to the ground, Sydney's arms trembling as she supported the other woman against her.

This embrace, of all embraces, was the most novel. From the mountainous stretches of North Korea, to prisons underground, to Sydney's dim-lit front door and finally, on Terrence Street…it was also the most difficult.

Lauren's fingers slowly wrapped Sydney's hand around the grip, taking advantage of the other agent's shock as they silently put all the blame –or rather, all the credit, into the hands of Agent Bristow.

Sydney's fingerprints involuntarily populated the firearm, tightening around it as Lauren fell deeper into her and coughed up blood on Sydney's shoulder.

Sydney heard Lauren chuckle, the sound running counterpoint to Sydney's mantra-like sobs, "Oh my God, oh my God..."

"Well done, Agent Bristow," Lauren interrupted, smiling at her own, sore impression of Sydney's father. Her impersonation quickly faded, bereft of anything but real concern, "Now's the time to make the change, Syd. Use this wisely; after all, there's only one of me."

Then the world orbited a last revolution as the sun in Lauren's irises slowly died away.

!-!-!-!-!-!

**Review Watch**

Ceaseless thanks to the avid readers and to the following reviewers:  
_dthstlkr_ - I'm glad you loved the last chapter. Call it a dampener for the events of this one. You might hate me forever...  
_Meadow_ - I know Vaughn seems rather casual with Lauren's betrayal; however, I had the intention of leaving his ire as an undercurrent, something that runs through the chapter. In addition, the fact that Sydney is less interested in him here, makes for limited reactions. I've never seen the rest of the show so forgive me for any inconsistencies. The beta is taking longer than I imagined. Thank you for reviewing!  
_Knight Wulf_ - Thank you for keeping tabs on my writing, for reading and commenting!  
_Lillian Reed_ - I always have high expectations for myself and I try to always write the next chapter better except this was written after a long break. I hope I haven't disappointed. Thanks for reviewing:) I love feedback, I do.

**A/N:** All mistakes are mine. The story was never meant to be an intelligent fic; just a rompt through the characters. I hope the character death didn't put anyone off. And since I love feedback, review away!


	12. The End That Never Was

**Title:** _Work and Play: Chapter XII_  
**Author:** AsianScaper  
**Fandom:** Alias  
**Characters/Pairings:** Lauren/Sydney, Vaughn  
**Spoilers:** Season 3  
**Rating/Warnings:** R – for language and mature themes.  
**Dedication:** To kwanboa on Livejournal.  
**Feedback/Archiving:** Feel free to message me.  
**Disclaimer:** Characters aren't mine; I don't own the show because if I did, a lot of naughtiness would ensue.

!-!-!-!-!-!-!

Blue-capped breezes spread across the horizon, tipped their arms into the sea and swirled bits of white into the waves that muttered there. The day was clearer than glass from the blowers in Italy, stark and light, heady with the bloom of fruity wine from the vineyards nearby. The air was summer, was spring, winter and autumn; was a gathering of all seasons as it touched her cheek, blew through her sun-burnt hair, fluttered past her eyelids and enticed her to look inward.

To the sea that had calmed within. Into the conscience that had –for the first time in many years, settled as she threw vestiges of death, violence, and obfuscation into the Mediterranean.

She was spread on the ground, the grass a constant prickle on her back as she stared up at the sky, up at heaven –an outsider to its realm in spite of all attempts to make her a citizen that same, soul-inhabited place. She wasn't quite worthy: there was one lie she was living, and that she was living, _was_ the lie.

The Reaper had been kind.

But oh, he had been cruel, too.

!-!-!-!-!-!-!

Sydney could not understand how she drew away from Vaughn the past year when he was that last bit of her which Sydney had been clinging to. She didn't know she had been clinging to anything until that moment, when he fell asleep on her couch after a particularly draining mission, whispered Lauren's name in his sleep, the tone of his voice vengeful and indignant.

When they weren't working together, he was worried for Sydney; he left messages on her machine, sent flowers to coax a smile, invited her to dinners that she religiously attended. Always, with the ersatz smile and the false, bitter kisses, and the sex that left her breathless but strangely empty.

Vaughn was hardly stupid; his stolen gazes only culminated in a talk at the parking lot of the city's best restaurant on the umpteenth dinner he had orchestrated for her benefit.

"Sydney, what's wrong?"

The look she came up with was one of pained tolerance. "Nothing's wrong."

"Don't give me that," he warned, his eyes agonizingly open. "We've known each other for much too long for us to be lying like this."

"What do you want me to say?" Sydney flared out. "That I like being the center of media attention? That I was forced into a status in the agency where I'm practically no _one_? Because I'm being protected from governments including _mine_?"

Vaughn touched her cheek, frowning slightly. "I have a feeling you actually like being no one these days."

How right he was! "Take me home."

"Sydney, look. You made the right decision; you released the disc _through_ the CIA and the FBI. They trusted you –finally trusted you! – when you delivered Lauren's dead body. You aren't the bad guy; you've done everything right and now that the information has simultaneously been given to the media, there's no stopping the change of policies, the tidal wave of revolution. You should be proud of yourself."

"I am _not_ proud," Sydney bit out and then took the two mental steps back for saying what she did.

Vaughn's eyes possessed the hedges of revelation in them; there was a horrifying knowledge that spread to his cheeks and slackened his face. "What exactly was Lauren to you?"

Sydney said, coldly this time, "Take me home, Vaughn. Before I say something I'll regret."

!-!-!-!-!-!-!

They always met in darkness, always met in the margins of the city, of society, where life seemed dreary, except…that was all that the margins knew. But now that life had somehow softened, somehow trickled into silences, they met –for the first time –during the day-time.

The Reaper sat by her, umbrella at hand, dressed all in black as was his wont. There was no rain, so he kept it beside him like a cane. His hat drew shadows over his face, despite the bright, Italian sun which threw pastel colors and bright reds from the city windows; his coat, quite defiant of the weather, obscured the figure beneath.

The side-roads of Sorrento, flanked on either side by tall, ancient buildings and walls crawling with lush greens, hauled shadows over the bench they sat on. Lauren put a hand over her eyes and tried to study the architecture.

Nonchalantly, "How is she? The new recruit?"

"Struggling," the Reaper replied in the low hum that was his voice. He sat absolutely still, raking in the side street by the mere gravity of his form.

"Can she hack it?" Lauren asked.

"Most probably. But she isn't you."

Lauren smiled. "I'm not quite dead, either."

"I am aware of that. But…she has done some very reckless, very brave things." He flexed his glove-covered fingers. "The last straw would be your reappearance. We didn't exactly…fake your death."

"Rimbaldi's secrets have come a long way," was Lauren's reply. "They have never been secrets to you. Quite the contrary; Death used them often enough." Lauren watched as a little boy made his way past them, his hand in his mother's as she talked to him in brisk, loving Italian. "And so has Life."

"Isn't it strange to be working for an allegory?" the Reaper finally asked, the laughter evident in his voice. "And stranger still that I move the likes of you in order to influence bigger cogs?"

"No. I'm only glad I sit by him, close enough to merit resurrection." She chuckled softly.

"You are all much bigger than you deem to be," the Reaper continued. "I would prefer to call you gods." He sighed and his breath had the thin ambiance of solitude. "It seems that someone else must take your place. However, I believe in due process. In much the same way the one before you was a mentor, you will have to give Sydney Bristow the remnants of your life. Ah, and death."

Lauren's heart seemed to stop in her chest, leaving a gaping hollow that filled with a warm, viscous liquid. "You mean I can see her again?"

"Only if you choose. It has, after all, been almost a year. You can only disappear so many times, Lauren Reed. You can only die so much before I take you completely."

!-!-!-!-!-!-!

The world flipped over, writhed, and seethed…literally.

In the changing, ever-dangerous tide of global relations, there was an impending disaster, a vast violence, which could have only been caused by God –in much the same way He created Noah's deluge, or the death of the dinosaurs, or the building blocks to humanity's eventual jump in evolution.

Except this one involved man's appalling ability to run from the consequences of his actions, to escape accountability for his sins. North Korea was all over the news:

_Secrets have been revealed about a testing facility in a North Korean province…it's been rumored that a rogue agent blew up the facility…citizens have taken to the streets, demanding the resignation of…the scientists have been handed over to an international court and are being tried..._

…the bureaucracies that permitted it were in question, were under attack, were undergoing sea changes that it made Sydney's head ache to watch CNN, the BBC or even those Asian channels she sifted through just to practice her Chinese.

It had been a year and still…_new evidence shows that five of the sixty-seven American scientists were involved in other acts that violated human rights in the mid-80's…_

Sydney didn't quite know what the disc had meant until Lauren killed herself and heaped the blame on her. She still went to work, half-heartedly participating in affairs that seemed trivial in comparison to her travails, but when she was at home, she felt as though a presence lingered by her, whispering into her ear, wheedling out tears that she had no business shedding.

She sniffed, her arm darting from under the sheets and towards the tissue box. Blowing her nose, she grumpily rose from her bed to fix herself a cup of tea.

"I thought you never got sick," someone started from the doorway. "You're superwoman, if I recall."

The accent was gone. But the inflection, the lilting coda of that voice…Sydney dove for the underside of her pillow, deftly picked up the gun and prayed to God that she wasn't going crazy, or that she was seeing things. Of the many talents she had, an open third eye was one thing she didn't want, or have.

Her voice sounded strange in her ears as it stuttered and stumbled into her syllables. "Oh…my God," she whispered as the full vision of her constant ghost bled into the floorboards with what seemed –irrevocably –like a woman. "You're supposed to be dead."

"I don't think you quite believed that," Lauren said, cockily, as she removed her personal firearm from her waist and put it on the table near the door. She approached Sydney, and as they stood an arm's length apart, she carefully extracted the weapon from her hand while keeping eye contact.

"Fuck you," Sydney breathed out, her lips trembling. "How on earth did you come back from the dead? Should I even be asking that question?" Lauren did not bother with an answer, surprising the other woman by taking Sydney quickly and almost violently into her arms.

Sydney tried to meld into her with the mere power of her embrace.

"You feel good," Lauren said into her ear.

Sydney muttered into Lauren's shoulder, "I'm going crazy. It's as simple as that." Her shoulders heaved and before she knew it, Sydney was sobbing as her embrace loosened and Lauren clung, if only to keep her from sinking into the floor. "Dammit, Lauren. It took you one year to come back from the dead; I would've taken much shorter."

Lauren kissed Sydney's forehead, delved into the crevice of her neck, her lips arched into a smile. "I'm sure you would have, luv." Pulling away for a moment, she asked, "Whatever should we do from here?"

Sydney laughed amidst her tears. "Live, I guess." She took Lauren's lips with the cold, hardship of her own, didn't care if this vision was a dream, and sighed into the former agent's mouth. "And teach me. Teach me _everything_."

"Fair enough, Miss Bristow. Fair enough," Lauren said, leading Sydney to the bed.

The Reaper saw this, closed his eyes, and decided that it was good.

!-!-!-!-!-!-!

**Author's Notes:** The entire story was done without the help of a beta reader, unfortunately enough.

In other news, I couldn't resist an alternative, 'happy' ending. I felt compelled to explain Lauren's actions, the importance of the disc, and who the Reaper really was (God? Life? Death?). As always, I appreciate your comments and opinions (points to the blue button at the lower right corner). Thank you to my lovely readers, especially to those of you who had to wait for this next installment and the whole fic in general; I recall starting this story more than six months back. I hate keeping everyone waiting. Thank you also to everyone who has supported me in the making of this fic. Lauren and Sydney have been exquisite fun to play with. Thanks so very much for having me!


End file.
